


The Education of Kara Danvers

by TheEvangelion



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: BDSM, Caning, Chastity Belt, Chastity Device, Corporal Punishment, Dom Lena Luthor, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/F, Forced Orgasm, HR Are Going To Shit Their Pants When They Hear About This, Headmistress Lena Luthor, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, Lesbian Lena Luthor, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Teacher/Student, Mistress Lena, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Past Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Punishment, Recovery, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sub Kara Danvers, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Teaching Assistant Kara, The School Board Are Going To Fire Them Both, Vaginal Fingering, Workplace Sex, lesbian bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/pseuds/TheEvangelion
Summary: Miss Luthor is the prim and proper Headmistress of Sacred Hearts Academy, the prestigious boarding school where Kara Danvers is a teaching assistant while finishing her masters thesis. Kara has more than a big crush on the Headmistress, and when Miss Luthor discovers the naughty things Kara has been up to -- the teaching assistant's biggest fantasises and worst nightmares all come true at once. [Smutty-Smut-Smut, Teacher/Student Roleplay, BDSM, Explicit Sex, Heavy D/s Dynamic.]
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 167
Kudos: 1256





	1. Chapter 1

There was a certain and indescribable way that the headmistress existed as both a tangible part of the school and as an independent thing that added a sense of order and context to it. As though the institution had simply never existed before her tenure, the prestigious Sacred Hearts Academy and Miss Luthor were almost a compound molecule — a balancing act where the edges of one another blurred together indistinguishably. 

Kara wouldn’t admit it but that was perhaps the thing that she thought about the most when she touched herself at night. The institutionalism. The primness. The purpose. The facade that was never, ever dropped for a single moment. The pristine appearance assisted in moving procedures along, of course, but Miss Luthor wasn’t just a beautiful woman, she was merely the gorgeous outline of where a woman was supposed to be — filled up to the brim with singular purpose instead. That was the thing that had Kara’s fingers diving inside of her panties deep into the quiet hours of early morning when she was really supposed to be working on her thesis instead — the conviction and staunchness of it all.

Miss Luthor’s office was almost Hogwarts-esque. It was mahogany and ancient, full of carefully polished knick knacks and clutter, lamps of all different sizes, a desk almost too big for her in the middle of the room. It was Kara’s favourite place in the school. It was a space that smelled like a library, that was gigantic and simultaneously small, that had a fireplace constantly crackling through the cold months, and more often than not, a dour little headmistress sat at her desk consumed with her work. To the right of the room there was a heavy locked door that led to the headmistress’s private quarters — the thought of what might exist within that space was also a thought exercise that consumed Kara’s evenings between orgasms. There was something utterly delicious about the unknown and the craving that went hand in hand for those small details. 

Still, Kara tried to have some decorum about her fantasies and so she never ventured to the headmistress’s office unless completely necessary. Their interactions were limited to hallways and staircases for the most part, transient and polite, measured and sublime. Kara always blushed, Miss Luthor always beamed a wickedly pleased smirk, and these procedures gave the little teaching assistant grounds to believe that the headmistress utterly knew the effect she had over her. The whole thing was erotically subversive and fueled her writing in ways that overt sexualism never could, and so Kara was more than happy with the state of things.

A wax sealed note came personally delivered in the hands of a secretary just after lunch. Kara wasn’t surprised despite the old-fashionedness of it. Miss Luthor was very quaint in that regard, she enjoyed a certain quirky sense of procedure when it came to communication, emails would not suffice when it came to things she deemed important, and so it wasn’t unusual for a waxed sealed note to travel through the school corridors when an urgent matter was to hand. The contents of the note however were very surprising, which filled Kara with an equal sense of excitement and dread.

_Miss Danvers,_

_Please see me in my office at six o’clock promptly in order to discuss a matter that has come to my attention._

_Regards,_

_Headmistress._

There was a sense of deference that everyone—students and teachers alike—used when it came to the headmistress; she was always Miss Luthor regardless of who she was speaking to. It was never _Miss L_ for shorthand or, god forbid, her actual given name. Miss Luthor sufficed just fine, never more, never less, and Kara had never known her to refer to herself solely as Headmistress. In fact, the only forum in which Miss Luthor did that was in the little dirty fiction stories Kara occasionally posted anonymously to her preferred erotica website. Even then, she was always careful to remove any identifying information and use a proxy server just in case the school ever caught wind of what was being accessed on their network. Kara shook the nervous feeling off, assured that all of this was probably nothing to worry about in the slightest.

***

The boarding girls had long since returned to their dormitories for the evening, the skeleton crew of cleaners had mopped and polished and emptied out for home, and so the school transformed into something different, the hallways and everything else utterly dark and creaking in the rapture of the windy night outside, and while anyone else would find something eerie about a drafty ancient school groaning itself to sleep — Kara found the whole thing quite calming on her nerves.

From the hallway of the south wing she made out a single room in the north tower with the lights still on. There she was, Kara thought to herself with a smile and picked up her pace slightly. The school was empty save for them, and she consumed herself with thoughts of what the stern woman might be doing in the privacy of her office when there was no one to watch or scrutinise. In her stories, it was always John Keats and Simone de Beauvoir. The Headmistress would be busy with a small pile of books when her naughtiest, most challenging pupil would arrive for a necessary punishment — much to the Headmistress’s ire at being interrupted. Sometimes it was a spanking, sometimes a caning, sometimes it was something far more erotic and humiliating, but always the Headmistress made the naughty young lady cry her way back to her room, utterly sore and sorry for her transgressions.

Despite the unknown circumstances of her requested presence, Kara was already brimming with ideas of what she would write tonight when she got back to the privacy of her own quarters in the staff building. It was always a prolonged encounter that left her with embarrassing fantasies of being a naughty young lady who had earned her Headmistress’s wrath. It was humiliating, it was removed from concepts of age dynamics and entirely about the power differential of it all, and it was something she didn’t feel capable of speaking aloud. Still, despite all of this, the fantasy consumed her most nights until she was half-asleep and satiated with her second or third orgasm.

The private office was thick with warmth from the fireplace when Kara walked inside. There was something unusual about being here after dark — something lovely and unexpected — because with the lamps glowing all over the room and the fire stoked into a crackling heat that off-set the windy night outside, the space almost became overtly sultry in a way Kara’s mind could have never conjured in one of her own stories. She had been here for no longer than thirty-seconds and already she was full of inspiration.

“Miss Danvers,” Miss Luthor smiled curtly and turned from the bay window that overlooked the rolling fields outside. “Thank you for coming to see me… I appreciate my request was short notice but I did ask you to arrive at six, prompt.” She glanced at the grandfather clock behind her desk with a sense of displeasure that things were running slightly behind. “For future, you will do well to work on your time-management.”

“I apologise,” Kara almost stumbled over herself at the reprisal. “I had to use the ladies room and I didn’t realise our meeting was so time-sensitive—”

“No need for excuses, you’re here now.” Miss Luthor strode right past her like a polite little hurricane in her gorgeous tailored suit and took the large seat behind the desk. “Please, sit.” She nodded to the chair opposite.

“You seem unhappy, Miss Luthor?”

“I think unhappy is an entirely reductive use of an adjective for a woman with your impressive schooling.” Miss Luthor didn’t skip a beat.

She wasn’t overtly scathing in the way she said it — this didn’t go amiss upon Kara. It was as though Miss Luthor simply didn’t care for the veneer of pleasantries because there were more important things to discuss, and as a result she was entirely above sparing the young woman’s feelings. Kara stood stalled for a moment, aware that this was clearly a more serious meeting than she had originally given weight to and yet also slightly aroused by the sternness she had been received with. Responsively, Miss Luthor peered up at Kara just once from the paperwork laid out in front of her with precariously narrowed green eyes. That was all it took to make the teaching assistant’s legs move automatically towards the chair she had been instructed to sit in.

“Miss Danvers…” Miss Luthor sat back in her chair as though she were exasperated and dumbfounded. “What exactly are your ambitions for the future?”

“I— well. I haven’t really thought that far ahead, Miss Luthor.”

“Please,” Miss Luthor interjected with a warm, beaming smile. “I would prefer if you called me Headmistress. I worked incredibly hard for that nomenclature and I would like for you to use it. Secondly, I find that answer difficult to believe. You’re due to submit your masters thesis next spring… you must have some sense of what you would like to do after that?”

Despite the fact there was no way for her to know about the dirty stories, the eye-watering crudeness of it all, the teaching assistant became utterly convinced of the contrary for just a split-second. It was as though she were juggling two entirely separate women, there was her tangible real-life boss who she did not know with any sense of personalism and then there was the character she had spent nearly every night building and fleshing out in her deepest fantasies. Kara swallowed hard and tried to remain composed despite the utter arousal that word invoked.

“Well, Headmistress, I think I would like to pursue another distance learning masters in nineteenth century poetry.” Kara fiddled her glasses.

“More education, interesting.” The headmistress nodded and glanced back at the papers laid out on her desk. “I find your sense of self-doubt… troubling, Kara. It has to be said, you’re a very impressive woman and a talented writer too for the most part.” She lifted a small pile of papers with the words printed so tiny that Kara couldn’t make them out. “Quite the dirty mind on you, Miss Danvers.”

“Pardon me?”

“No, you will not be pardoned.” Miss Luthor stood from her desk without so much as a glance at the blushing little creature. “Stand up and lift your skirt, Miss Danvers.”

“Excuse me?” Kara felt her eyes bulge.

“Do as you’re told, please. I don’t wish to waste anymore time than necessary but I will keep you here all night if I have to.” Miss Luthor sighed and stood up from the desk, rubbing the place where her temple and pristinely pulled back hair joined together, exasperated already. “Panties down around your knees and skirt rolled up over your hips, now please.”

It was a fever dream. It was some kind of terrible fatal accident and her brain was currently folding in and over itself. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real, and yet, it absolutely was happening. Kara just sat there as still as a statue in the chair — completely stalled and aroused beyond words. Miss Luthor didn’t give her the sharp look to do as she was told this time, she simply wandered around her office tisking and sighing like the displeased headmistress from one of Kara’s erotic little stories. 

This… this was completely unprofessional. This was completely inappropriate. This was the definition of sexual harassment in the workplace. Kara decided in a split-second that she didn’t care about any of those things — she stood from the chair wordlessly with crimson cheeks and slowly pulled her little white panties down her thighs and legs until they came to rest around her kneecaps. She felt like a naughty little girl who had a monumental punishment coming her way, and she felt like a grown woman who was being looked upon with a sense of tempered arousal too because of the fact.

“Skirt up too, young lady.” The headmistress chided out of sight.

“Yes Ma'am,” Kara whispered shakily and pulled her pencil skirt up and over her hips in bunches.

The headmistress produced a low, guttural noise from the otherside of the office. Kara felt those stern green eyes almost burn into her backside. She was being ruthlessly appraised, stared down, calculated, and despite the lack of verbalism, she privately understood that she was being punished and simultaneously not punished at all. Kara stood there and couldn’t stop her body trembling from the adrenaline and excitement.

“I found it all rather endearing when I first figured out the little stories on my favourite website were loosely based on you and I, Miss Danvers.” Miss Luthor started and stopped, and all Kara could hear was the sound of her rifling through one of the large wooden cabinets beside the bookcase. “Then another feeling overcame me,” she continued, “the more you wrote — the more disappointed I became to see each grammar error and the lack of concern for continuity from one chapter to the next in lieu of empty vulgarities.” Miss Luthor sighed.

“Forgive me, Headmistress, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kara lied nervously.

“You did very well to make the stories vague when it came to the details but you forgot one crucial thing…”

“I don’t. I didn’t— I haven’t written anything dirty about you, Headmistress.”

“Another lie.” Miss Luthor tisked. “I’ll be sure to add that to the list when we get to how we’re going to rectify all of this, young lady. I’m keeping count of your misdeeds, don’t worry.” The sound of patent high heels clicked around the parquet flooring. “In your fourth chapter you mentioned the headmistress had a grandfather clock in her office with the chest painted navy blue and stars embossed with gold leaf — it all became quite clear to me after that.” Miss Luthor laughed to herself.

The final piece of the puzzle made a bead of sweat form on the guilty one’s brow. Fuck, Kara thought to herself. She darted her eyes to the grandfather clock behind the desk where the navy blue cabinet housed the swinging pendulum with delicate little constellations embossed in gold on the inside—Orion, Ursa Minor, Aquila—all of them politely there like tiny calling cards to the scene of the crime.

“Headmistress, I’m sure it’s all just a coincidence—”

“No, my dear.” Kara heard a loud swishing noise from the back of the office, the sound of a rattan cane cutting back and forth, flexing and bending the air as though the headmistress was preparing to strike somebody’s bottom with it. “It’s sloppy, it’s lazy, it’s a deliciously tiny slip-up, because my great-grandfather made that clock with the constellations of his children’s birthdays embossed in gold. Safe to say, it’s the only one of its kind.”

“Fuck,” Kara whispered.

“Indeed, fuck.” Miss Luthor remained dour and reserved about these matters.

“Is sorry a good place to start?” Kara began to panic. “Does it— would it— could it be enough for you to not fire me if I really, really meant it? Miss Luthor I’m _so_ sorry—”

“Quiet!” Miss Luthor snapped so fierce and loud that her voice ricocheted off the room. “You will be sorry when I tell you to be sorry, young lady, because I am going to punish you like the naughty little school mouse you are. Your dirty little stories are one thing, your lack of good punctuation and formatting is an entirely separate and more pressing matter.”

Kara shivered and instantly understood what was happening.

“Yes Headmistress,” she whispered and felt her cunt ache with arousal.

In an instant, Miss Luthor was nearly pressed against her spine. The headmistress loomed over her from behind, breathing against her ear, hesitating, holding her position, basking in the way her mere presence was enough to nearly make the sorry teaching assistant cower like a naughty little school girl. The headmistress became a tempest, a whirlwind of primness, a woman on the absolute edge of her own sensibilities, and truth be told, Kara wanted to be the one to push her over the edge.

“Such a filthy little mess in your panties.” The Headmistress peered down over the flat of Kara’s shoulder at the gusset proffered between her knees. “Did it turn you on thinking about me on your way here to my office?” She tilted her chin and leaned in close to her ear.

“Good girls don’t talk about things like that.” 

The answer made the headmistress release an amused huff of air.

“And what would you know about the whim of good girls, Miss Danvers?” The headmistress slowly walked around Kara’s still and fixed position with the papers in her hand. She perched herself against the edge of the desk and turned her attention to the evidence, scanning and searching for something in particular. “Ah, there we go…” She smiled.

Miss Luthor then began to read an excerpt aloud. 

“...The guilty girl kneeled beside the Headmistress’s lap, naked and shivering, tear-stained cheek pressed gently on top of her thigh, over and against the soft material of her stockings. The teacher remained disinterested and marked her examination paper with a fast manicured hand, crossing out the abundance of incorrect answers with a disappointed sigh. The plug nestled inside the girl’s bottom was stretching her obscenely, nestled so tight that it was felt with every deep breath for air—”

“Oh god,” Kara cringed and covered her face.

“Ah ah!” Miss Luthor grabbed her wrist and slowly pulled it back down. “I want you to read the next part.” The headmistress’s smile widened into a wicked, bright, crimson grin as though the humiliation was a delicious treat in and of itself.

The papers were turned around, the manicured finger tapping the highlighted section that the headmistress wanted to hear her speak aloud. Kara knew the passage well, had spent nights re-reading it over and over again while she rubbed herself every which way towards the finish line of an orgasm. Her familiarity with it didn’t soothe her embarrassment — and her embarrassment didn’t prevent the flood of arousal making a mess between her lips.

Kara sighed and felt her lips fidget together with reluctance and embarrassment, but nonetheless, she did as she was told and began to read.

“...Without gentleness, without tenderness, the headmistress replaced the young lady’s empty bottom with two fingers stuffed so deep inside that it felt as though they might tickle her heart. It was enough to make the sorry student weep and start up with the apologies, with the promise that she would be better behaved in future, but the headmistress cared for none of these things.” Kara repeated aloud and watched Miss Luthor grow tense and tight jawed, aroused and pensive about it. “She curled her fingers and fucked her tight gleaming bottom as though it were a humiliating punishment — but the headmistress spoke and crooned as soothed as though it were anything but. ‘Such a little fool,’ the headmistress whispered and stroked the blonde hair back into a neat pile over the girl’s shoulder. ‘I hope you’ll stay a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’” Kara blushed and looked away when she was finished reading.

“I was particularly fond of that section but it has to be said that I don’t appreciate your appropriation of Fitzgerald’s best work and I don’t believe he would be particularly forgiving of it either — plagiarism is plagiarism, Miss Danvers.” Miss Luthor promptly stood from her desk and walked back across the office out of sight. “Climb up on top of my desk, please. I want you to raise your bottom high and drop your shoulders against the wood. If you haven’t done this by the time I get back over there then I’ll double each strike of the cane you’re due to receive.”

She wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Kara gulped and understood Miss Luthor really was entirely serious about re-enacting some of the more lurid details of her stories… the realisation made the sorry little teaching assistant nearly orgasm on the spot.

Kara clambered and kneeled on all fours as instructed, her bottom stuck up high in the air, shoulders pressed low like a little prowling kitten. The skirt bunched up around her waist and provided quite the view of her gleaming cunt peeking out between her thighs, pink, swollen, dripping and entirely the property of the headmistress for as long as Miss Luthor decided such was the case — the game was on and Kara became an entirely willing participant in her own erotic punishment.

“In the excerpt you so obediently read aloud for me I picked out three gramatical errors,” Miss Luthor pointed out as she walked back across the room. “Firstly, you misspelled the word headmistress in your third usage of the term. Secondly, you didn’t start the dialogue line on a new paragraph. Thirdly, you placed a comma between the cumulative adjectives that you used to describe the scene in which my character fingered your bottom.” Kara buried her face forward with an aroused kind of humiliation at the way her boss said it so coolly.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress, I was occupied while I was writing it.”

“Oh now that I’m very sure of, Miss Danvers,” Miss Luthor replied with a small, quiet sense of humour about it. “Still, if something is worth posting on the internet for others to enjoy then perhaps it’s also worth the fifteen minutes for a quick second edit — unless you don’t take your work seriously?”

“You’re right, Headmistress, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t save you now, little girl. Three grammatical errors, three strikes to your bottom.” Kara shivered as a long and thin piece of wood pressed against the curve of her bottom cheeks. “You’re going to count each one and repeat your apology.”

“Yes Ma'am,” Kara whimpered and dug her fingers into the edge of the large desk.

She wasn’t particularly well-versed in the realm of canes but the consuming hobby of writing her little stories had led to some interesting research online. The cane loudly cut through the air around her, flexing back and forth with that terrifying whippiness, as though Miss Luthor wanted the fear to bubble up and over itself before the first strike was delivered. Kara privately understood that this wasn’t going to be a forgiving kind of implement — if a cane could ever be described as forgiving — and she imagined that the headmistress had selected one most similar to that of the stories. Kara dipped her head down and utterly trembled, as prepared for the unpreparable as she could be.

“Filthy little girl,” Miss Luthor tisked and pressed the tip of the cane into her slick vulva in shallow prods. “You’ve made a drippy little mess all over my desk, girl. I don’t feel a punishment for a naughty thing such as yourself should be any source of sexual titillation — but we’ll see to that. You can have six instead and we’ll see how aroused you feel after that, Miss Danvers.” The headmistress struck her with a loud, whooshing, thunderous crack.

Kara bucked forward with a silent sob and gasped for a breath. The pain… it was nothing like she could have imagined. The cane left a red hot sting across the flesh but somehow that pain seemed to throb and multiply and compound itself in the seconds afterwards. It was a radiating sensation that spread and deepened, that switched her on and off again at the mains, and suddenly she was transported to the world she had spent months and months crafting — entirely at the mercy of her prim, proper headmistress.

“One—one. I’m sorry, Headmistress, one.” Kara choked and resumed her position, bottom pushed high, chest and cheek buried into the wood.

“Not so consumed with your little dirty thoughts now, are you girl?”

“No Headmistress,” Kara choked out with a whisper.

“Such a great pity.” The cane whooshed and struck again.

“Two!” Kara squealed. “Two, Headmistress, I’m so sorry. I’ll be good in future — I promise.”

“Six strikes a good girl doth not make, Miss Danvers.” The headmistress scolded and warned of more to come. “You and I… well. I think we have quite the evening ahead of us.” The cane snapped harder this time.

“Three! Three, Headmistress!” Kara squealed again and slapped her hands hard against the mahogany.

“Are we forgetting something, Miss Danvers?”

“I’m sorry, Headmistress! Three, I’m sorry!” 

“Ah, yes, there we are! I thought we had forgotten something.” Miss Luthor struck again twice in quick succession.

“Four, five!” Kara barely caught a breath. “Holy fucking— Oh my god! Jesus _fucking_ Christ! Four and five, Headmistress, I’m so sorry!” 

A hand suddenly grabbed a fistful of long blonde hair and yanked until Kara’s throat was pulled tight, taut, and long. The headmistress lingered over her for a moment, peering down with smouldering green eyes that were entirely devoid of mercy. Kara licked her lips and stared up at her with a swell of tears caught in her eyes, pouting, whimpering, inhaling big breaths that her lungs wouldn’t hold for more than a split-second at a time.

“You’re very lucky I’m fond of you.” Miss Luthor growled and pushed her head away. “If you use that kind of language in front of me again I will do things so traumatising that you will cower every time you so much as think about writing one of your dirty little stories…”

“Yes Ma'am,” Kara wept and pushed her bottom up a little higher for the last one.

Strike number six drew blood—Kara was certain of it. The pain was so sharp and deep that it felt like an explosion, a gunshot wound, something so monumental that, in the moment, Kara couldn’t imagine the end of it. Six made her bawl. Six made her cry so hard she damn near climbed over the other side of the desk to get away from the punisher. Six was all it took to break her into something both fearful and wet beyond words.

“No no, back you come,” Miss Luthor said very calmly and caught one of her ankles. “We’re done. Good girl. I’m pleased you took your punishment, well done.”

“Th-thank you, H-h-headmistress,” Kara sobbed and hung slack over the desk.

“I do not want to see anymore grammar mistakes or lazy punctuation in your work, Miss Danvers, am I understood?” Miss Luthor insisted one last time.

“Yes… yes, Ma'am.”

“Goodness.” Miss Luthor paused and dipped down until her breath was felt against deeply private places. “My, my.” She slipped her fingers through gleaming swollen lips that were slick and hot with wetness. “It would seem you rather enjoyed that little punishment, Miss Danvers.”

“S-sorry, H-h-headmistess,” Kara wept and sank with relief as manicured fingers circled and stroked her privates. “S-s-sorry I’m n-naughty,” she stuttered, completely inside and owned by the fantasy of it all.

“My favourite, most challenging, naughtiest little troublemaker…” Miss Luthor purred in consolation. “Roll on your back and spread your legs.” 

Kara instinctively did as she was told and let her thighs fall open. Miss Luthor stood between her legs, dour, measured, her expression not giving anything away. She was a headmistress, alright. There was just that salient sense of utter authority. It was as though she were the master of the universe. The keeper of all sins. The only thing to be feared and respected in Kara’s tiny, insular world. And so Kara just sagged bonelessly into the desk and allowed herself to exist at her Headmistress’s mercy.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Miss Luthor pushed the tiniest of smiles. “We’ll make a good girl of you yet.”

“Th-thank you, Headmistress.” The polite submission made Miss Luthor’s eyes brighten and glitter.

“Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me, Miss Danvers.” Miss Luthor leaned forward with narrowed green eyes and guided the teaching assistant’s shaky hand over her mound and flushed lips.

“Wh-why, Headmistress?”

“Because I want to understand it perfectly, remember it, think of you doing those deliciously naughty things to yourself when I retire to bed tonight.” The headmistress growled with a certain wrath to her voice. “You’re a very difficult little problem to put down, Miss Danvers. I think of you so often, so very often, and yet I should only care for you as a young lady who clearly needs my guidance. It’s… troublesome.”

“I think of you too,” Kara whispered with a strangled little whimper and slipped her fingers through her cunt.

She touched herself slowly, teasingly, barely grazing over the hood of her clit and the edge of her glistening lips. It was as though she were discovering it all for the first time; a thing that had once belonged solely to herself and was now the property of the headmistress and somehow changed because of that fact. It was a little toy that she was being permitted to play with but could be taken away at any moment — and so she played with it carefully, gently, revelled in every second of it and hoped her submission was enough to hold Miss Luthor’s intrigue.

Eyes closed, heart thrumming, every little whimper sincere and unforced, Kara pressed inside her labia and stroked herself deeper. It was enough to make the Headmistress growl and inhale a hard breath, as though she were utterly engrossed in every little moment, watching, guiding, entertained and unable to look away. Kara felt her heart dip, dive and swell with the approval.

She pressed her clit, didn’t rub it, didn’t circle it, just pressed it in alternating pressures. Kara did it softly at first, a little harder, then softly, then a little harder, teasing herself into a torrent. When she began to circle her clit and rub it every which way, every muscle fibre grew tight, her teeth clenched, her nostrils flared, and her slick, dripping cunt grew tight and close to an orgasm.

She felt lips graze against her belly, kissing softly, reverently, as though it were a private little secret. Kara snapped her eyes open and watched the crimson lips drag and nibble her hips and tummy, kissing, pecking, teeth nipping here and there.

“Please, Headmistress.” She felt Miss Luthor smile against the spot beside her belly button. “Please don’t stop...”

“Are you going to tell me a pretty story before you go to bed tonight?” Miss Luthor rolled her eyes up to Kara’s face with a stern, purposeful stare.

“Yes Ma'am,” Kara nodded frantically.

“Am I going to find any errors, little girl?”

“No Headmistress,” Kara didn’t skip a beat, frantic and pushing her hips towards the staunch little god between her legs.

“Good.” Miss Luthor promptly slapped her swollen cunt and stood up. “I’ve seen enough. I’m going to sit down now and calm my temper, I would like for you to lie across my lap and try your very hardest to show me you can be a good girl, Miss Danvers.”

Kara watched her walk around the desk as though absolutely nothing erotic had just taken place. Her cunt stung and throbbed, she had tears in her eyes, and it still wasn’t enough, truth be told, she wanted more strikes, more slaps, more of anything that involved Miss Luthor’s palm and fingers on her dripping, aching privates. Kara obediently got off the desk, wobbly legged and dizzy with arousal, and she followed her Headmistress’s instructions.

“There’s a good girl, come here,” Miss Luthor patted her lap.

Kara tried to be as poised and delicate as possible as she laid over her thighs but it became wholly unnecessary — the headmistress grabbed and positioned her just so, cradled, held, pulled over her knee and clutched like a little human blanket to warm her lap. Nose digging against Miss Luthor’s hip, mouth pressed against the material, Kara inhaled the intoxicating smell of her. She closed her eyes and whimpered when a strong hand began to smooth and stroke her bare bottom.

“I’m going to train and enjoy this little hole of yours so very, very much.” A thumb traced over her gleaming, twitching bottom. Kara gasped and clenched hard, but then the thumb gently came away. “In time… all in good time, girl.” Miss Luthor sighed happily.

“If I had known you were reading my stories I would have tried harder,” Kara whispered.

“I know, you’re an eager little thing. It’s very pleasant.”

“So you want me to keep writing them?”

“No dearest,” Miss Luthor said, scooting the chair forward slightly towards the desk. “I’m going to give you the source material and you, for my pleasure alone, are going to transcribe the cover notes.”

“Does this mean we’re going to do this again someti—” Kara gasped as two fingers pushed forcefully inside her cunt.

“Hush now. I think a little contemplative silence might do you the world of good, Miss Danvers.” The headmistress curled hard into the tiny little spot that made Kara dizzy and tight. “Such a sloppy, wet, tight little thing…”

Miss Luthor withdrew her fingers slightly, just for a moment, scissoring them a bit as she pulled out. A second later, she slammed them back inside hard and deep. It was without tenderness, without gentleness, it hurt and it felt wonderful and Kara cried out so loud that it echoed around the room.

The headmistress craned her neck and kissed the side of her temple gently.

“Should you interrupt my contemplations again, little girl, I’ll put you in a chastity belt and send you to bed every night for a month with no way to soothe yourself.” Miss Luthor growled against the top of her ear. “Are we clear with one another?”

“Yes Headmistress,” Kara huffed for a gasp of air her lungs simply couldn’t contain.

“Good.” The fucking promptly resumed.

Kara gritted her teeth and stayed quiet as a mouse, whimpering almost-mute noises, her lips open, heart in her throat, fingers clutching the headmistress’s knee so gently and inoffensively polite. Miss Luthor curled and twisted and made happy, inelegant, sloppy sounds between her legs — fingers curling as deep as they could and then just a little more for good measure.

“Next time we meet under these circumstances you will be wearing a more appropriate outfit — I believe in the stories you describe it as… a white blouse and plaid skirt with knee-high socks that matched the colour of her panties?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Kara grunted and held on for dear life as the headmistress fucked her deeper and harder.

“Good, that’s very good.” Miss Luthor sighed and stroked her long blonde hair into a polite pile over her shoulder with her unoccupied hand. “You’re getting so tight on my fingers, Kara.” She scissored and curled and fucked a little harder. “You’re not planning on doing something regrettable, are you?”

Kara bit her bottom lip so hard that it went numb, unable to speak, desperately trying not to cum.

“I hope not,” Miss Luthor continued and reached under her hip to rub her clit with the other hand. “I would hate… just hate… to have to prolong your punishment should you be a naughty girl and orgasm.”

“Headmistress… please…” Kara whispered quietly and felt her cunt grow tighter and tighter.

“No, naughty girl, this is about me now — you won’t be having an orgasm tonight.”

“Headmistress!” Kara gasped as Miss Luthor fervently rubbed her clitoris. “I can’t— I won’t be able to hold it, please, please, please let me cum?”

Miss Luthor dipped her head down and traced her lips over the side of her quivering throat, kissing, pecking, hovering there and inhaling the smell of the little teaching assistant’s perfume with a pleased smile. Her hands were occupied, fucking her ruthlessly, fucking her as though it were a punishment, a false test, a thing that was absolutely going to lead to an orgasm despite her instructions to the contrary — her mouth however was entirely gentle in it’s minstrations. The headmistress kissed behind her ear and whispered what a pretty girl she was, what a good girl she was, how lovely she felt, how soft she was to touch, all of it, again and again.

“Headmistress I’m—I can’t hold it!” Kara began to cry.

“You better hold it!” Miss Luthor snapped loudly. “If you orgasm without my expressed permission then you do so at your own peril—”

Kara cried and snapped and started to orgasm, hard. Her hips bucked backwards into Miss Luthor’s palm, her fingers clutching at the headmistress’s knee so tight as though it were the only solid thing she could grasp. She sobbed as she came, cried so hard it made her lungs shudder, but Miss Luthor continued to fuck her hard and deep, circling her clitoris, ravishing her cunt, stroking her vulva, allowing her to buck and ride it out and clench so tight that she couldn’t pull her fingers out even if she wanted to.

“I’m sorry...” Kara wept and shuddered and twitched as the orgasm waned.

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” Miss Luthor crooned over her with kisses on the back of her neck. “You tried your very, very best to be a good girl, I’m sure. It’s the effort that counts, Miss Danvers, not always the finished product.”

“Yes Headmistress,” Kara gasped as the fingers slipped out of her cunt gently.

“Was it worth it, Kara?” Miss Luthor whispered with a stern, reassuring voice. “I hope so. I was very serious about your punishment, and truth be told, it’s going to please me a great deal brushing against you in the hallway knowing about the little secret under your skirt…”

“Wait—” Kara turned over her shoulder and peered up at the smirking, dour, otherworldly woman who had turned her world upside down. “You were… you were being serious about the chastity belt?” She blushed.

Miss Luthor reached over her spine and opened the drawer to her desk. She pulled out a metal belt, shaped like a T, with a band around the waist and a band that would go under… goodness—Kara instantly realised just how serious the headmistress was about her threat.

“Stand up Miss Danvers,” Miss Luthor instructed calmly. “Since you don’t yet know how to control yourself, this will just have to be another lesson I must undertake teaching you."

“But I… I always touch myself when I write the stories that you apparently like so much…” Kara reasoned as she slowly stood up from her lap.

Miss Luthor just smiled at that.

“Then I’m sure I can expect to see a drastic improvement in your grammar and punctuation now that I’m giving you two hands to write with rather than one.” She fastened it around her waist, snug. “Open your legs please, Miss Danvers. If you would like to reduce your punishment to a week instead of a month… I suggest you write me a wonderful story tonight and send me lots of pictures of you trying your hardest to rub my locked-up little toy.”

Kara felt a shiver run down her spine and instantly wanted to cum again at the mere thought.

“Yes Headmistress,” Kara bit her bottom lip and placed her hands on Miss Luthor's dainty shoulders for leverage.

AN: I'm intending on this being a one-shot but if enough people like it and say they want more... I could be persuaded to write more. If you want a second chapter, if you want to see exclusive stories, or updates ahead of the curve...

[BOOM.](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

The days were spent convinced the chastity belt was visible through the material of her skirt; the nights were spent fervently rubbing the tiny bits of sensitive flesh either side of the chastity belt in private, filthy wishes that such was the case. 

Six days had passed and Kara hadn’t been able to thoroughly pleasure herself once, and yet she had never felt so wholly owned by a sexual fantasy. It imbued her little stories with a sense of personalism, with a dedication to write them as perfectly as possible because the most important woman in her universe was now watching.

The week was finally up; and responsively, the wax sealed note travelled from one end of the school to the other in the hands of an oblivious secretary once again. When it found Kara’s hands, she felt her heart skip a beat. Assisting the tutor of third period classical history was blown off — one excuse or another about an urgent personal issue that needed to be attended. The hallways were nearly skipped down, darted around, sped through hastily in search of somewhere utterly private and quiet.

When she found the janitor’s closet, the door was quickly shut behind herself, the light clicked on, the stepladder perched on, and she tore the letter open with child-like giddy excitement.

_ Miss Danvers, _

_ Please see me in my office at six o’ clock promptly for a uniform inspection and a thorough discussion about your recent written work. _

_ Regards, _

_ Headmistress. _

  
  


***

Perhaps it was a totally disgusting perversion, Lena thought. It was definitely an abuse of power; a filthy little secret that could cost her reputation, livelihood, and ten years of hard work in a single instant if ever someone found out. A dangerous game that left her open to all sorts. What it absolutely wasn’t, however, was a perverted fixation on the girls in her charge.

The thought of using Miss Danvers as some sort of proxy to act out twisted fantasies about her students was repulsive to the dutiful teacher, and so a pervert with a power complex? Yes, absolutely. A dedicated professional who only thought of her pupils on the strictest platonic and appropriate terms? Yes, also absolutely. And so these two polarising parts of herself were forced to fit within one person. 

It was a complexity she felt unable to concisely explain — that the only thing that truly aroused her was complete and total sexual subjugation; to be a totalitarian mistress for a naughty girl type, and yet that interest was utterly contingent on all participants being well above the age of twenty-one. That was her cut-off. She couldn’t even watch pornography if the woman looked to be eighteen or nineteen — it was just too close to home.

And yet, ironically, what wasn’t too close to home was the idea of being a strict and sadistic headmistress for Kara Danvers. A mistress, an educator, a punisher, a woman tasked with tearing her down and building her up to her full potential. When she realised that Kara Danvers had been the one writing those wonderfully perverted little stories where the submissive was overtly of adult age and yet yielded all authority to her headmistress like a frightened school girl, it was a sexual awakening. 

It was beyond arousing. It was, and still is, the only time any need for an interpersonal relationship came before duty to the job. The thought of Kara in a schoolgirl uniform was erotic, skirt lifted above her marked and red buttocks, legs trembling, cunt dripping, proferring apology after apology despite the understanding that this was what she wanted. 

What they  _ both _ wanted.

Lena deeply suspected that the crux of her interest was focused on Kara herself rather than the periphery of it all.

Three minutes to six, the game was nearly afoot, and so she stood in front of the large cabinet and used the glass as a mirror — jet black hair slicked neatly, temples taut, expressionless behind her emerald eyes, black satin blouse without a single wrinkle and neatly tucked into her pencil skirt. It was a more precise uniform—or rather a state of existence—than what was ever necessary in her actual professional capacity as a headmistress. Everything was careful and deliberate as though this were a date of sorts. Which, perhaps it was precisely that. A date of pretense and sexual gratification despite Kara’s present inability to be sexually gratified at all.

Three polite knocks to the door followed one another in rapid quick succession.

“Inside, Miss Danvers.” Lena called with a dour voice and instantly became the fantasy.

Kara shuffled in with her cheeks already a deep sort of pink, grey cardigan and plaid skirt neatly pressed, white blouse tucked in meticulously, socks pulled up just beneath her knees, mary janes polished pristinely. It made Lena’s mouth twitch with the faintest symptom of approval. It was less about the school girl attire and more about what it now made her in the context of Kara’s little insular world — the absolute authoritarian above all other authority. A delicious feeling, if ever there was one.

“Good evening Headmistress,” Kara couldn’t look her in the eyes, still too shy and nervous.

“Good evening, Miss Danvers.” Lena walked around her like a prowling predator, tall, stiff, shoulders puffed out, hands clasped in front of her waist. “I see you have put in some effort to make your uniform presentable for me… show me the other part of your uniform, please.”

“The other part?”

Lena smiled softly at that and briefly closed her eyes.

“Lift your skirt up above your waist please, Miss Danvers.” The instruction was dour and instantly obeyed.

There was something delicious about the little submissive slowly tugging and holding it up around her belly rather than taking it off completely. It somehow made Kara an accomplice in her own humiliation — able to drop the material and spare her dignity and yet forced to resist the urge on a moment to moment basis. Secondly, it became a mental bondage that kept her hands restrained and in place. A far more elegant means to an end compared to rope or handcuffs, Lena thought.

“Beautiful.” Lena came to a stop and reached around her body, idly tracing the front of the gleaming chastity belt with slow, slender fingers. “Have we learned a valuable lesson this week, Miss Danvers?” She breathed the words out against the nape of her neck.

“Yes Ma’am,” Kara whispered breathlessly.

“What did we learn, pet?”

“To give my stories a second edit and make sure they’re perfect for you, Headmistress.”

“And?” Lena growled slightly and pressed her palm against the front of the chastity belt, hard.

Kara lost the breath she was holding on to, as though she were frightened, as though she were on the brink of a terrible punishment, but, almost imperceivable to the naked eye, she slightly leaned back against Lena’s chest — just enough for the subtext to be clearly understood — Miss Danvers welcomed these feelings and put up no resistance to them.

Lena wanted to bend her over the desk and fuck her right there and then.

She didn’t, she doesn’t, and she can’t, because without patience and pretense they have absolutely nothing. Lena swallowed and pursed her lips, waiting for an answer to finally tumble out of the precocious one’s mouth.

“I also learned the hard way that my body belongs to you, Headmistress.”

There it was, Lena smiled to herself while she was out of sight. She tempered it, buried it, straightened her mouth into an impenetrable expression as she pulled away and prowled around to face her little blonde troublemaker.

“What part of your body in particular, Miss Danvers?” Lena lifted a brow and leaned forward close.

“My cunt, Headmi—” 

Lena slapped her cheek so hard that the sentence couldn’t be finished.

“I will  **not** tolerate vulgarity, young lady.” She leaned in further with the severity of a lioness. “You will speak with the kind of humility that becomes a polite young lady when you address me, otherwise I will take you over that desk and beat that lesson into your bottom.” She pointed to the mahogany desk that now doubled as their battleground.

“Y-yes, Headmistress.” Kara gasped and instantly clutched her pink cheek, terrified, aroused, oscillating between the two.

“So… what is it that belongs to me, my girl?” Lena asked much softer this time, sultry, inviting, gentleness swelling in her voice.

“My…” Kara became stuck, as though determined to find the right kind of word. “My kitten, Headmistress.”

Lena pursed her lips and closed her eyes as though it were the most adorable thing she had ever heard.

“Much, much better. There we are, there’s a good girl.” Lena pulled Kara by the back of her neck into the space beneath her jaw, settling her chin on top of her scalp, petting her, crooning over her almost. “We’ll train you out of all your bad habits, my girl, now lift that skirt back up and stand to attention.”

She felt Kara inhale deep breaths against her slender throat, lips open, as though she were drinking it all in, as though the soft lingering perfume was a thing to be studied and remembered. It was a flattering sort of adulation, one that Lena allowed for just a moment too long before she came back to her senses.

“Now please, Miss Danvers.” Lena instructed and softly pushed her back a step.

When the skirt went up around her belly again, when her mary janes widened their stance ever so slightly, it nearly took the breath out of Lena’s chest. Kara was a curious little thing to be studied, blushing despite humility, innocent despite her filthiness, reluctant and yet wantful. Lena strode forward and grabbed her by the waistband of the chastity belt — damn near dragging her across the room towards the arm chair by a wince, a hop, and a prayer. It was Friday, the week had been as long as it had been stressful, and the Headmistress was intent on getting the weekend off to a nice start.

“Over my lap, pet.” Lena sat down in the chesterfield with poise while the precocious one awkwardly rubbed the pinkened indents between her legs. It made Lena smirk wickedly, nostrils slightly flaring with desire. “Do as you’re told otherwise I will give you something to really cry about, my girl.”

Kara nodded and curled forward over the offered lap. 

“Did you get my email this afternoon, Headmistress?” Kara whispered as she tucked herself into the thighs supporting her belly.

“I did. It made for…  _ interesting _ reading.” Lena’s voice remained authoritative, but she perfectly understood what Kara was asking between the lines and so she obliged the subtle little troublemaker with necessary reassurances. “I read your limits very carefully, Miss Danvers, and there are plenty of things we can do to beat a little good behaviour into you that do not involve calling you a cunt or sending you to bed without some wind down time.” She stroked up and down the heaving spine.

“Th-thank you, Headmistress.” Kara’s fingers clutched her knees gently as though her headmistress were a human comfort blanket. 

Foolish little girl, Lena thought with a small smirk.

“Tell me, Miss Danvers, how has your week been spent?” Lena asked nonchalantly as she lifted the plaid skirt up and over Kara’s bottom.

Legs parted ever so slightly, Lena caught a glimpse of her reflection in the steel that slipped through and underneath Kara’s buttocks. She didn’t quite recognise the woman staring back but goodness she  _ envied _ her. 

Whoever she was in this moment—to Kara at least—she was the utter center of the universe holding everything together. The hand that gives, the hand that takes, the hand that guides and assumes control. It was a state she had strove towards in the past, a previously impossible goal, one that was simply unachievable without the shivering little slut over her lap making puppy dog eyes at her as though she were the only thing in the world to be feared. 

In that regard, they were a team of equals, silently elevating the other in the absence of sycophancy.

“I tried to touch myself the first few nights, Headmistress. I don’t know if I’m supposed to admit that but... after day three I gave up.” Kara turned and pressed her cheek slack against Lena’s thigh. She moaned and clutched her headmistress’s knee a bit tighter as two knuckles slipped between the belt and her vulva, checking, touching, only briefly there before slipping away again. “I wrote like you told me too, and I— well. I got caught up on The Bachelor. I mean, there wasn’t much else I could do.”

“Television like that will rot your brain, my girl.” Lena remained entirely above admitting that she too liked watching that kind of thing when there was nothing else to be done.

The spanking started in a slow, tapping, methodical rhythm that grew and became more impactful with each strike. Each cheek of Kara’s bottom slowly warmed pink and flush, hot but not enough to sting yet. It made a quiet girl of Kara, focused, within herself, breathing and completely aware that she was not expected or required to do anything else.

Lena whacked her a little harder, enough to make a handprint and a responsively guttural whimper. Her other hand slipped around her ribs and tore the buttons on her white blouse, ripping, pawing, freeing the small dusky nipple and pinching it hard enough to make her little troublemaker instinctively grab her forearm, hard.

Lena instinctively hissed at the sharpness digging into her skin.

“I’m so sorry are you okay?” Kara snapped around with genuine concern.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Lena smirked at the infringement as nails retracted from her forearm. “Do you think that is acceptable behaviour, Miss Danvers?” She leaned down and husked behind her ear, lifting her arm up to the light for examination. “It would seem you’ve put a mark on me, my girl — a very, very foolish mistake.  _ Lex talionis _ , Kara.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I don’t. I— I didn’t take Latin, Headmistress.” Kara trembled in fear, cunt glistening, breathing shallow, her lips flush and wet either side of the steel belt.

“An eye for an eye, my girl.” Lena smiled and grabbed the back of her blonde hair in a fistful. “An eye for an eye.”

It was a violent sort of waltz, Lena dragging her across the room back to the desk by a fistful of hair, Kara never more than a short step behind as her legs almost tripped over themselves in the hurry. There was a wrath to it, a little bit of a fight put up as Kara insistently and hurriedly apologised. Lena appreciated all of this. She did not want a truly obedient pet. The Headmistress wanted a naughty, disobedient, smart, precocious little troublemaker to improve and mold. Kara more than delivered to expectation in that regard. 

So wonderful and, yet, still so much potential to be  _ better _ .

“Now, now, what are we going to do with you, little girl?” Lena bent her over the desk and examined her forearm — five neat half-crescent moons indented on to her skin. It was enough to make her tut and make a show of it, huffing and palpably disappointed, aware that alone was enough to turn the girl inside out with shame.

Kara humphed and weakly wrestled against the palm pushing her down into the desk between the shoulder blades. 

“Forgive me, Headmistress?” She peered over her shoulder, gasping, eyes glazed, aroused and more than sorry about the transgression. “I… I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered with genuine concern in her voice as though she might have inflicted something close to substantial discomfort. 

She hadn’t, of course, but the Headmistress was above reassuring her of that. Lena laughed and her eyes became dazzling, ensnaring, predatory weapons that had only Kara fixed in their crosshairs. It was enough to make the girl cower.

“Forgiveness without merit isn’t forgiveness at all, Miss Danvers.” Lena leaned down and husked the words against the top of her ear. “This… being naughty… being made to repent… it’s all just checks and balances that have to be rectified. You break a fundamental rule of protocol, I beat you until your tightly wound guilt is redundant, and better we both shall feel because of it. You and I have little need for meaningless apologies or displays of forgiveness… we should only concern ourselves with  _ ensuring _ better behaviour in future.”

Kara almost melted into the sturdiness of the words, utterly consumed with the fantasy until it became just as real and tangible as the mahogany desk or the fine book cabinet. For Lena, she was devoured by it too, and she realised that they were and could only ever be this one thing each other now — submissive little pupil and dour severe headmistress. A balancing act, a performance piece, a sexual and human awakening that relied on the other’s commitment to the role. And Kara… she was quite the scene partner to act against in that regard.

Lena hesitated as she reached for the leather strap set neatly on the desk with an array of other accoutrements that would also be used tonight. Her fingers hovering right over the top of it, she licked her lips and turned her attention back to the goosebumped little creature proffering her chaste cunt as though it might make a slither of difference.

“Tell me, pet, did you cry and rub your sore bottom before you went to sleep after our first encounter?” She grazed fingertips over the fading pink indent of a cane strike that had caught both bottom cheeks.

“I… I cried alright, Headmistress, I sobbed,” Kara groaned slightly and hid her blushing face. “I went to bed naked and I wept into the pillow and I… I tried to touch myself, desperately, and when I realised I couldn’t.” She huffed and swallowed. “Well—pushing and pressing the bruises had to be enough. All I could think of was being with you, Ma’am,” Kara rabbeted and babbled.

“Being with me?” Lena’s voice tilted with disapproval.

“At your side, Ma’am. On my knees, or just, you know, maybe standing in the corner while you mark papers, just… just near you, Headmistress — never out of your sight.”

“As a naughty little girl should be,” Lena said with a severe inflection.

Kara weakly groaned and huffed again.

“Ah,” Lena whispered with a low, rasping hum. “It turns you on when I’m to the point, doesn’t it?”

“Did you sincerely doubt that, Headmistress?”

“I suppose not.” Lena finally took the strap off the desk. “Still, it’s nice to have my suspicions that you’re a filthy little bitch in desperate need of a reckoning confirmed, Miss Danvers.”

Kara trembled and lost her breath, hips shaking, knees quaking, spine vaulting with her puffing chest, all while her plaid skirt sat bunched at the small of her back like a naughty little school girl on the brink of ruin, cunt glistening behind the shiny chastity belt that Lena so enjoyed looking at — much more dignified than a collar, she thought.

“A thrashing you need and a thrashing you will get, Miss Danvers. I will see to that...”

The strap was a quarter of an inch thick, stiff brown leather, short and slender in the palm; and when the headmistress brought it down on the naughty one’s bottom it was with such force that the welt formed as instantly as the scream. If it was supposed to evoke an inch of sympathy or regret then it did not. Lena paused, only because the swell of arousal that formed was so monumental that she had no choice but to stop and gather her sensibilities.

“Breathe, girl.” Lena followed her own order and forced her chest to obey. “In, out, breathe, breathe through it.”

“I’m sorry Headmistress—please, please forgive me—I’m so sorry,” Kara wailed and clutched the welt on her bottom.

“Hand out of the way! You do not know the  _ meaning _ of the word sorry yet,” Lena hissed scornfully, yet on the inside she was anything but; she was a straight line, an arrow, a thing with calm purpose and direction, an actress consumed by fantasy. “Bottom up, if your hands drop again then I will whack them too.”

She should have given her a few tempered and paced ones to acclimate, but that was not the name of the game. This wasn’t about pain being a medium for sexual arousal, truth be told, Lena didn’t care if her teaching assistant found this sexually arousing in the slightest. This was about fulfilling a need, serving a function, and maintaining a deeply important protocol. Kara was a naughty girl to be sincerely punished for the sake of being sincerely punished, and Lena was the headmistress entrusted with that sacred responsibility. This, if nothing else, was who they were to one another now.

Lena beat her with an utter violent wrath, arm snapped back, tanned leather hitting the skin so hard and fast that the unholy sound of each slap could surely be heard down the corridor. Kara screamed, her hips burying forward, teeth chattering, her bottom blooming with neat rectangular purple marks that were quickly adding up to half a dozen — three on each cheek.

“Headmistress please!” Kara wailed and buckled bonelessly into the desk. “Please, please I’m sorry!”

“You will not touch me without permission in future, will you girl?” Lena barked and smacked her buttocks again.

“No—God no, Ma’am. Please—I can’t. Headmistress, I can’t—” Kara dropped her hands down to hide her marked bottom.

Lena couldn’t help but smile slightly at the disobedience. She hit the naughty one right in the palm of her hand with a hard, untempered strike.

Kara broke and sobbed like a little girl. It was hysterical, almost. The cracking whimpers of her chest were so loud and guttural that she couldn’t get a breath in before it was forced out by an agonised sob. She clutched her stinging palm to her chest, spine bucking with the tears, curled, crying, sorry, her bottom thoroughly seen too. Lena stopped with a sense of utter disconnect, the strap was calmly placed back down, dour, unemotional, unsoothing, merely existing over the little one while she sobbed and sank like a lead balloon into subspace.

“I’m, I’m, Headmistress I’m—”

Lena bent down and hushed her with a slow, calming croon and placed a gentle hand on the small of her bare back. She felt the girl tremble, every tiny shift of her body, but then Kara sank and relaxed into the touch of her Headmistress, surrendering herself to it once again.

“I know, I know you are, you don’t need to apologise again,” Lena said with a calming tone. “You can let the guilt go, my girl. You took your punishment, you learned your lesson, you’re a good girl and you can just be quiet for a moment and breathe now.” She petted the heaving spine in long sweeping rubs.

“I di-didn’t. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Kara sobbed with utter remorse, her head whipping round with swollen puppy dog eyes. It cracked Lena’s veneer and made her heart swell with guilt. “Is—is your a-arm o-okay?” The little one stuttered.

“My arm is fine, sweet girl. Just breathe.” Lena rubbed her thumb over a particularly deep welt and appraised the purple bruise. “That’s my good girl, just focus on your breathing and let it all go. Punishments are my responsibility, you’re no longer required to question yourself anymore. I decide if you have reason to be sorry, I decide the parameters of how long you will precisely be sorry for. Are we quite clear?”

“Y-yes, Headmistress.” 

“Would you like to continue or shall we take a moment, Miss Danvers?”

“A m-moment, please, Headmistress.”

“Come along, little one.” Lena instinctively took her hand and brought her around the desk to the large chair.

She sat down and smoothed her pencil skirt in the process, tapping her lap in silent instruction. The little teaching assistant stood there teary-eyed, a few blonde hairs stuck to her forehead, hands clasped and held to her chest as though she were self-soothing, trembling and utterly dealt with. 

There was something about the sight that made Lena’s heart swell with a soft sort of pride for her brave girl — it was one thing to take a punishment for sexual titillation, it was a more earnestly impressive feat, deserving of tenderness, to take a punishment because it was owed and necessary.

“Come here little one,” Lena softened her tone.

“W-will—Will you rub my back and pet my hair, Headmistress?”

“I don’t know if requests such as that are appropriate in light of who we are to one another, Miss Danvers,” Lena said instantly but without any sense of sting.

“Y-yes, Headmistress,” the sorry one was polite and made no attempts to get her own way. “I’m, I’m s—” She stopped herself instantly.

“Good girl,” Lena rewarded the cessation with encouragement. “Come, over my lap.”

Kara did as she was told and without hesitation the headmistress was rubbing her spine and running fingers through her hair. It was instantaneous. It was unforced. It was owed and deserved and Lena felt as though she were becoming aware of these spaces within herself on a moment to moment basis — the thought of indulging anyone’s whims… it felt unnatural. Yet, Kara had given her total submission and obedience when it came to these games. It made something slightly tender and gentle out of the rigid, professional woman who understood nothing but duty and purpose. This? It served no tangible purpose in Lena’s mind. Lena soothed and stroked and held her close simply because it was what Kara needed.

It was what they  _ both _ needed.

“I very carefully read the new chapter that you wrote in preparation for this evening, Miss Danvers.” She felt Kara grow stiff and apprehensive as though this were a statement to precede another punishment, perhaps for poor grammar or literacy. Lena curled over the tense little creature in her lap and pressed her mouth to the back of her neck. “The improvement is very evident, I can see all of your effort and hard work. I am very, very proud of you,” she whispered with just the slightest lilt of sternness.

“Th-thank you, Ma’am.”

“Quite the colourful bottom, little one.” Lena appraised her work and glided over it with a tender hand. “Let’s get you out of this belt. I think we have learned our lesson, but you should know that wearing a chastity belt will be something I intend to have you do for me with frequency.”

“I would like that, Headmistress,” Kara croaked the tears away as Lena removed the key from her pocket.

The answer was surprising enough that it halted the headmistress in her tracks.

“Did I hear you correctly?” Lena clarified.

“I liked wearing your belt,” Kara whispered. “I… I know it was a punishment and it felt like that too… but it also made me feel close to you.”

For the first time in a long time, Lena didn’t know what to say. Staunch, impenetrable, dour and unconcerned with any sense of a personal life, the little one had somehow added a complexity to these set rules. She brushed it off quickly, determined to maintain unspoken boundaries. Still, the tiniest sense of curiosity bubbled up and left her lips before it could be swallowed back down.

“Do you enjoy feeling close to me?” Lena asked with a voice too close to her actual speaking voice, the one that was used exclusively for family and a select few others.

Kara nodded her head and slipped her hands around the headmistress’s knee as though to anchor herself there, face pressed against the thigh, buried, clinging, calming down if only because the person who did the punishing was also the safe, sturdy thing to clutch in the moments after.

When the chastity belt came off in seperate pieces, the marks of where they had pressed remained. The headmistress touched them softly, grazing over each one, following it around the hips, down the buttocks, and eventually along her cunt too.

Kara moaned a tiny, throttled noise and clutched Lena’s thigh tighter.

“Relax, breathe, little one.” The headmistress slowly pushed two fingers inside of her cunt.

Kara gasped and cried out, a different sort of cry this time, one that was half way between a pant and sobs of pleasure. Her head slung forward as though her muscles could no longer support it, her wet little lips gloriously flushed and swollen, cunt clinging and gripping the headmistress’s fingers as though she had never quite been touched like this before.

There was no talk or verbosity, nothing for them to discuss, it was as though Kara were merely a pet to be stroked and held, a quiet little good girl who had earned her respite and perfectly understood the headmistress was not to be disturbed. Lena curled her fingers inside of her cunt and found the one spot behind her clitoris that made for trembling legs and sloppy noises.

“Eager little thing, sweet girl,” she whispered and barely stifled her own moan.

There was no way to tell Kara the truth in respect of protocol and boundary. There was no way to explain the nights she had spent rubbing herself into a stupor thinking of the little teaching assistant, fantasising of sending her back to class with plugs slightly too big forced deep inside her bottom, wrists bound with soft ribbon into the deepest hours of night while her plump eager cunt was slapped and tormented to the headmistress’s satisfaction, the weekends that Lena wanted to spend idly touching herself by the fire while her perfect Miss Danvers stood naked and attentive, nipples clamped, cunt throbbing, hands occupied with the book she would be instructed to read aloud. There was no way to say any of it.

And so Lena showed her instead.

The headmistress grabbed the girl’s shoulder and pressed her fingers as deep inside as she could, curling them, twisting them, fucking her with long motions while her thumb rubbed her clitoris in tiny hard circles. There was nothing measured or strangely disconnected about it, she fucked her perfect Miss Danvers like she meant it, as though she were on the edge of herself too, and when her hand came around to cup the girl’s mouth and stifle her panting cries, it was all she could do to maintain any sense of order.

“Such a tight, hot, ribbon slick kitten,” Lena growled against her ear. “Who does it belong to, Miss Danvers?”

“You, Headmistress, it belongs to you—” She lost herself to a gasp as the fingers quickened and fucked her harder.

“I had such big plans to beat you senseless tonight, little girl.” She hissed and growled like a beast that had been slightly, if only slightly, tamed. “You are an impossible thing to get off my mind.”

“Will you… will you please…” She clenched her eyes shut and tried to hold on to herself.

“Yes, little one, you can climax,” Lena ordered it with the strict inflection of a teacher.

“Yes, Headmistress. Oh fu—” She stopped herself before the last consonants could roll off her tongue. Kara panted and corrected herself, “Th-thank you, Ma’am, but I was… I was going to ask if you would please still beat me senseless… please?” She peered over her shoulder with flushed cheeks and those big bright puppy eyes.

Lena felt her brain do a backflip that she was being asked this.

“I do my best writing after you’ve made my bottom sore,” Kara reasoned with a pout.

Lena instantly grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back.

“Cum now and cum hard,” she instructed, “because I am going to send you to bed with a black and blue bottom, little girl.”

Kara came and it was an out of body experience, eyes rolled into the back of her head, gasping, crying, panting, clutching Lena’s thigh so tight it was nearly a similar infraction that earned the bruises on her bottom. Lena let it off this time, drunk on the serotonin, consumed and devoured by her little naughty troublemaker. Her cunt was so wet and soft, twitching, tightening, reflexively squeezing her fingers with each pulse of pleasure as she fucked her hard and deep.

“There’s my good girl, enjoy this, let it feel good,” Lena encouraged and rubbed her clitoris gently. “You know I think I’ll put the belt back on you before you go to bed tonight… I like the thought of you whining and crying because you need me close…” Her lips lingered and traced along the nape of Kara’s neck. Instinctively, she nipped her and earned a little huffy whine, teeth sharp and quick, as though Kara were a little puppy.

“Can I…” Kara turned around bright eyed and glittering as though her headmistress were a godlet to be worshipped. “Can I touch you?”

It made Lena laugh hard, her grin beaming, her smile genuine, her green eyes narrowing into amused slits. Foolish little girl, she thought to herself.

“Do not get ahead of yourself, Miss Danvers,” her voice rasped authoritatively. 

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	3. Chapter 3

The windy weather and dark skies hung around for three days solid. It gusted through the courtyard, sent papers and homework blowing up in a flutter, rushed and broke through the occasional door until the new boarding girls were positively shaking, certain the ghost stories were true. The weather wasn’t enough to dampen Kara’s mood; it was finally Friday evening, the school long since emptied and left for the weekend, and the only light to be found glimmered faintly from Miss Luthor’s office. Her heart fluttered like starling wings. The wax-sealed note had been different today. Kara understood tonight would be different too — she had been instructed to bring something to wear for bed.

The winding staircase in the north wing was hopped up eagerly with her leather satchel bouncing on her shoulder. When Kara came to rest at the Headmistress’s large wooden door, it wasn’t the journey that left her slightly out of breath, rather it was the excitement of finally seeing her. It was simultaneously revelled in and completely savoured. Miss Luthor had been on a residential trip to Europe for two unforgivably long weeks, but she was back, and apparently she had missed their little Friday meetings too. It was an abundantly good thing worth savouring. The anticipation… it was almost as wonderful as the reward.

The door suddenly swung open.

Headmistress pointed sternly with fierce emerald eyes. “Inside,” she bristled.

Kara stood there for a prolonged moment and felt her heart thump-thump. She was beautiful, a stern goddess to be worshipped, her long jet black hair falling straight behind gleaming shoulders that peeked from the mid-length bardot dress she wore — as though her collarbones needed the undivided attention. Kara was inclined to agree, they were utterly gorgeous.

Miss Luthor’s eyes grew wide and outraged. 

“Am I speaking in a foreign language?” the headmistress boomed.

Kara barrelled forward and buried her in a deep, longing hug. It was resisted with utter stillness, the stiff body in her thin arms completely stalled as though it didn’t know what to do with itself. This… this was an infraction she would be made to suffer with blood. Kara would pay the toll gladly. It had been two weeks, and on her best nights the crybaby thought she wouldn’t survive it.

“I missed you so much,” Kara huffed and pressed her forehead to Miss Luthor’s shoulder. “You have no idea, no idea how much I missed you.”

An assertive hand glided up the small of her back for less than a second, just a slight breeze of contact, just a small lick along those dimpled knobs of spine. The fingers came undone and then disappeared back down to Miss Luthor’s side, and Kara felt unselfish about it — that tiny gesture was all the headmistress could do to confirm that she had missed her little teaching assistant, too.

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispered.

Miss Luthor pushed a slow, sincere smile. 

“You will be,” she swallowed, stern voice faltering almost undetectably.

Inside the office things had been set up. Kara stepped inside and glanced at the glowing little candles, head turning, eyes counting, at least a dozen by her quick estimation.

“The terrible weather has knocked the power out in this building — save for the emergency lights.” Miss Luthor’s voice was utterly stern and authoritative as she shut the door with a hard thud. For the first time, Kara suspected the headmistress had told her a lie. “I have to say how thoroughly disappointed you have left me, Miss Danvers. I expected two weeks would be plenty of time for you to finish your writing assignment with all the relevant edits, but alas, you have turned in nothing for me to mark.” She folded her slender arms.

“I…” Kara exhaled and didn’t want to admit it. “I couldn’t write for you, Headmistress.”

Miss Luthor snapped her furious stare in Kara’s direction with such speed that it felt like a slap to the face. Kara shrivelled like a scared little girl, huffing and biting her plump bottom lip while the teacher strode to her desk and took her seat. There was a poise to her shape, a prim stiffness, her knee instantly folding over the other with clasped hands settling on the top. The nervous feelings bubbled in Kara’s tummy, and she could not tear her eyes away despite them.

“Tell me, girl.’ Miss Luthor narrowed her stare. “Do you think I’m soft on you?”

Kara balked. “No, Headmistress!”

“Then you better have a damn good explanation as to why my simple, singular request went unfulfilled.” The headmistress didn’t so much as blink.

“I—” Kara bit and shook her head slightly. “I don’t think you’ll approve.”

“Good I believe we’re on the same page, now do tell.”

Kara peered up and felt stupid. It was stupid. At the time the disobedience felt like an act of submission in and of itself. She couldn’t write because her heart was out of her chest. The time alone had been spent stuck in fears that the distance would give Miss Luthor a revelation that this relationship was inappropriate and couldn’t continue — for two weeks that was her evening ritual. It left her unable to think straight, and therefore unable to write.

“I am waiting,” Miss Luthor reminded and opened her drawer. Her hand slipped inside, the leather strap was pulled out and placed on top of the desk. Kara felt a terrified shiver slip down her spine. “Please, Kara, give me yet more reasons to start adding stripes to your punishment. Go on, stay silent a little longer.”

Kara suddenly found words and began to blurt.

“I couldn’t write because you weren’t here and I… I was pre-heartbroken, Headmistress.” Kara dipped her head.

“Pre-heartbroken?” Miss Luthor asked with some sense of interest.

“I thought you would come back and realise you didn’t want to invest time into this… into me, anymore.” Kara utterly trembled. “I was pre-heartbroken about it, Ma’am. It made it hard to want to write anything erotic.”

Miss Luthor slowly nodded her head.

“You’re right.”

“About what?” Kara’s eyes snapped wide.

“I do not approve, a very silly excuse if ever there was one.” Miss Luthor folded her arms, calm and authoritative. “Lift your skirt and bend over my desk, Miss Danvers. It seems we have some work to do in order to… demonstrate and guide the potential I see within you.”

Kara swallowed and did as instructed. The plaid skirt came up in bunches over her taut thighs, stopped just shy of her underwear. She bent over the desk until her cheek pressed the wood. Miss Luthor didn’t stand right away, she remained seated and Kara heard her breath and felt her stare glean in her body. A moment later, fingers glided over her long blonde hair and gathered it off to the side. 

Kara closed her eyes and felt the headmistress touch her shoulderblades gently. It was affection in the absence of affection, and Kara felt confident it was Miss Luthor’s way of saying, ‘Oh, you foolish little girl — of course I’m not bored of you.’

It was enough to calm the flock of hummingbirds who had been moshing in her tummy these last two weeks. Kara suddenly felt a wave of serene calm wash over her. Miss Luthor was back, and she had missed her too, and these were abundantly joyful concepts to paint her world with. Though what Kara craved for most of all wasn’t warmth or tenderness… 

Kara craved for a beating.

_Kara craved to sob._

***

Lena stood from the desk and felt slightly resentful that she was required to move. Truth be told, to sit there for an hour or two and catch glimpses of the little one’s twitching shoulderblades over pages of Bronte would be a deliciously peaceful way to unwind after such a busy fortnight. Then again they had the weekend at their disposal. She had instructed for pyjamas to be brought and pyjamas—or the absence of them all together—represented all kinds of interesting possibilities, some peaceful, some anything but.

“Did you touch yourself while I was away or have you learned some small amount of decorum?” Lena bristled and pushed a handful of the skirt up the small of Kara’s spine.

Kara wasn’t wearing any panties, Lena noticed and instantly bit a tiny groan.

The little one pushed her bottom up in search of Lena’s touch. It was enough to make the headmistress smile — which thankfully Kara could not see. Still, these games relied on a large amount of pretense and structure. Still, Lena felt that smiles and affectionate gestures were inappropriate. It was incompatible with the extended invitation for Kara to spend the night, she knew that. A lot of Lena’s staunchly held beliefs were becoming more and more incompatible and contradictory. Perhaps that was a problem for another time — it had been a long two weeks in Europe. The only problem Lena wished to concern herself with for tonight, and at least half of tomorrow too, was the little dripping troublemaker wiggling over her desk.

“Once...once or twice, Headmistress,” Kara stuttered.

“Are you telling me the truth, Miss Danvers?”

“No, Headmistress.”

“How many times?”

“I missed you.”

“How many times?” Lena slapped the exposed little slit hard enough to make her own palm sting.

“Ow! Fu—” Kara stifled it and inhaled a deep breath, her ankles criss-crossing, thighs clenching, chest rising and dropping. “That hurt,” she whimpered.

“Legs open!” Lena’s voice boomed, loud and hollow, as though positively raging. On the inside, the headmistress was as calm as Sunday.

Slowly, the troublemaker opened them again and steadied herself. “I don’t remember, Headmistress,” she whimpered tearfully.

“That many times?” Lena tutted sternly. “A beating you’ve earned and a beating you will get, my girl.” She watched the little troublemaker curl and blush, and the sound of nervous whimpers stirred a torrent.

She had ascertained that Kara loved to bend and break the rules, and she surmised it was mainly just so she had good reason to punish her in the ways they both privately liked. But this, the thought of Kara reaching between her legs and rubbing her aching wet slit, spoiling herself silly, taking something that the headmistress deeply felt was _hers_ , all while her singular request went unfulfilled. It left Lena positively steaming with indignation, and it left her on the brink of arousal too. Yet another combination of feelings that deeply felt… incompatible.

“Open your legs,” Lena instructed calmly. “If I have to tell you again, I will tie your legs apart and really let you have it. You don’t want that, my girl, _believe me_.”

Kara inhaled one more big breath and then did as she was told. She was beautiful, long taut legs, gleaming wet slit made pink by the hard slap, a small thatch of clean blonde pubic hair already damp on her mound. Lena stared for a moment, holding her breath and calming the urge to push her fingers inside and teach her little teaching assistant a thing or two.

But reclaim herself she did, gathered herself up in pieces, a bit of sensibility here, a small amount of patience there, and instead Lena wandered to the coat hooks where all manner of impact tools had been hung up for selection. 

A rattan cane would be too ferocious on her troublemaker's pinkest parts, and a worn suede flogger nowhere near ferocious enough. Lena idly traipsed her fingers across each tool and felt the materials, the soft tendrils of the floggers, the smooth ridges of the canes, and then finally she settled on just the implement. 

It was a handmade riding crop she had been gifted from a family friend at her last polo tournament victory — stiff bridled tan leather, hand-stitched, with dark crimson thread where the shaft terminated into a tongue. Lena hadn’t broke it in at the stables, it was just as well she hadn’t. Kara would make for excellent target practice with the whippy flat of the crop’s stiff tongue. She twisted and peered at the crop, entirely satisfied and off to the races.

“How many strikes begets a girl who can’t remember how many times she fiddled with herself, Miss Danvers?” Lena boomed and flicked the crop through the air until the terrible whippiness had her girl panting and burrowing into the wood.

“I want bruises,” it was admitted so softly and quietly that Lena had to strain her ear, surprised and half-certain she had misheard. “Blue ones, purple ones. I want them to hurt… I want them to be _brutal_.”

“Pardon me?” Lena’s tongue suddenly felt dry and foreign in her mouth.

“I missed you. I missed… not having to be guilty or unsure of myself,” Kara said with a sense of earnest as her fingers clutched the edge of the mahogany. “I want bruises, deep ones. I want you to hurt me and punish me until I don’t have to be sorry anymore. So, however many that is, that’s what I need, Headmistress.”

Lena smiled. The thought of marking her pretty Miss Danvers was reason enough to smile, of course. More than that, Lena smiled because it was a request she felt more than capable of obliging. She too had missed their Friday nights beyond what she felt was appropriate or even sane for that matter. Privately, Lena also smiled because the last two weeks had been filled with utter torment for her too — sleepless nights tossing and turning in a cool sweat, terrified that she had taken all of this too far. And so to hear that shameful admittance roll off of her little teaching assistant’s tongue was an equal mixture of relief and arousal. 

It was both a tempest that turned the headmistress inside out, and a calmness that soothed the tremble in her belly better than a stiff short drink ever did.

“I wonder if you want such a terrible beating because you think I’ll be soft with you afterwards and excuse your naughty whoreish behaviour.” She watched Kara’s spine sink slightly from the dressing down.

Lena traipsed the small stiff tongue of leather between the inside of her taut thighs, then over the flat of her gleaming cunt, as though the headmistress was acquanting her with an old friend. Kara merely whimpered over the tip of her breath, as though it were all she could muster in response.

“Well, Miss Danvers, I can assure you—” Lena grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her neck taut. “There will be no warm cup of cocoa or flagrant indulgence of your little domestic fantasies tonight. I intend on taking you right to the very edge of yourself and then dangling you over the praecipe by the scruff of your neck. You have disappointed me, little girl. I certainly have my work cut out with you…” She pushed Kara back down into a pile on the desk.

When Kara began to plead for some small measure of mercy, when her shaky hand lifted a short distance from the desk, that was when Lena began to unload. The crop curled back and whipped her mound, struck her vulva, stingy little taps that caught her lips and turned the arousal into tiny webbed drips that clung to the tongue of the crop. 

Lena felt a sense of purpose wash over her, a technicalness that deeply cared for procedure and precision. The pain was meted and dished with a sense of cold exactness, hard but not yet forceful. She avoided the clitoris, struck the mound and the vulva and the inside of Kara’s twitching thighs. It earned muffled cries, whimpers, but not yet squeals or sobs — all but a promise of what yet was to come. Lena didn’t believe in warm ups when it came to necessary punishment but she wanted her filly in it for the whole course.

It was arousing and yet arousal was neither quite the means or the end of this endeavour. Lena felt above such whim, merely entertained and titillated by it. This at its core… it was entirely about crime and punishment despite appearances. It was about rules and procedure. It was about molding the fine young mousy woman with more qualifications than she cared to count into something brilliant and actualised — a woman who knew restraint, a woman able to achieve her goals. Spare the rod, spoil the girl. 

Perhaps that’s why she was forming quite the crush on Miss Danvers, she rationalised. Kara didn’t want to be spared the rod, she wanted to be held accountable, she wanted to be guided, she _wanted_ to yield authority and submit to Lena’s judgement. In Lena’s mind, it made her little filly a fearsome warhorse. It made her both a conundrum and a solution to pitless spaces within herself that Lena was discovering on almost a moment to moment basis.

“I’m sorry—” Kara gasped as the tongue of the crop hit her labia in incremental whippy taps, legs wobbling but never daring to close. “Please, Headmistress—” She wept, sinking and melting. “I’m sorry!”

‘I do not care for apologies, Miss Danvers,” Lena replied instantly and struck her cunt with another whippy sting that jolted her body. “We should only concern ourselves with _ensuring_ better conduct in future. Part your cheeks, hold them open and do not move you hands.”

Kara nodded, her whimpers and noises muffled and full of embarrassment. She reached behind herself and parted her buttocks, cheek pressed to the flat of Lena’s desk. Filthy perfect little whore, that was what Lena wanted to growl against her ear, but Lena inhaled and forced herself to be the only thing she felt she did with any sense of perfection: the calm and unmoved authoritarian who only cared for procedure and incremental progresses.

Kara did as instructed and held her cheeks apart, this was no feat to reward, and yet Lena wanted to, desperately, tongue lapping and tender fingers stroking her clitoris until Kara moaned and whimpered for very different reasons. She swallowed it down and righted herself again, lightly striking and tapping newly exposed bits of sensitive skin with the flat of the crop as she thought about what exactly to put in that pretty twitching hole.

“Bruises do not come without suffering, Miss Danvers, and so if it’s suffering you need then I can and will bare that responsibility to you.” Lena reached for the gleaming steel plug on the side of her desk. “And trust me, it is a responsibility, Miss Danvers.” Lena added thoughtfully as she applied a small amount of lubricant and smoothed it with her fingertips, a tiny drip of excess pressed inside the opening of her troublemaker’s tight backside. “I would like to be able to reward you, Kara, but I must meet your behaviour with a sense of exactness. I endeavour to be a constant reliable for you, and therein is the responsibility. You understand?”

“Yes Headmistress,” Kara wept and stuttered.

“Big breath, girl.” Lena spread her palm into the small of Kara’s spine and gave her the smooth slender tip of the plug. “You’re going to wear this plug for the duration of your punishment and think of all the things you have done these last two weeks that were beneath my expectations of you. I am determined to drag something impressive out of your tonight, Miss Danvers, whether you like it or not.” Lena pinned her from jolting and pushed it in with slow, relentless pressure.

“Oh god—” Kara wiggled and clenched the desk, tearful and huffing. “Miss Luthor I’m sorry!” she cried out as her muscles stretched and accommodated the smooth metal.

It was the psychology more than anything, Lena knew that. It wasn’t about shoving objects far too big inside her troublemaker’s pretty tight holes; conditioning her to associate intimacy with physical pain was not the goal. There was a certain amount of trust that her troublemaker had surrendered to her whether she was cognisant of the fact or not, and Lena intended to never betray it. And so this was emotional rather than physical. This was merely punishment and catharsis in a sex-shaped box. The plug itself was perhaps only the girth of two fingers, if not a little smaller than what she knew Kara could very comfortably accommodate.

Lena had been a troublemaker too when she was a few summers younger, and so she perfectly understood the psychological hoops she was asking her insubordinate little girl to jump through. The butt plug wasn’t painful, just merely a constant, a pressure, an embarrassing intrusion removed from sexuality that would only last as long as the beating. It was a pocket watch with no minute hand, a comforter that couldn’t be wound through the fingers, a way for Lena’s authority to exist with omnipresence. Kara sunk and breathed through the adrenalin, gigantic breaths that slowed and adjusted at there own pace.

“Good girl, breathe. In and out. There you are,” Lena smoothed a hand into Kara’s shoulderblade and waited her out. 

When Lena’s fingertips came undone and moved for something, Kara followed with her eyes, then the whimpers resumed. The leather strap tended to have that effect on unruly little troublemakers, Lena did her best to remain unexcitable despite her amusement.

“Hush! Quieten yourself,” Lena said, calm and stern. “You are going to take this beating, Miss Danvers, and every time you feel like apologising I want you to stuff it back inside you mouth instead. There are no apologies until **I** say so!”

“Yes Ma’am,” Kara chuntered away, fingers holding the desk for dear life.

Lena struck with force, arm snapped back, strap brought down with an ear-splitting crack. The hurt was plain to see. Kara wailed, tight backside and taut thighs trembling, the pink outline of the leather strap formed instantaneously like a footprint in snow, and Lena grazed the tips of her fingers over it like an artist appraising her work.

When the mounting fear subsided; when the troublemaker got a hang on her breaths, darting eyes focusing back to the grandfather clock behind the desk in preparation for what was to come, that was when the headmistress knocked some sense into her.

A brave girl, Lena thought to herself. She strapped her bottom every which way, painted dark red marks against her gleaming buttocks and earned nothing but tiny huffs and gasps. The troublemaker was holding on to every breath, clinging to the desk, criss-crossing her ankles back and forth, doing what little she could to put up some resistance. It was as though this were a proving ground, one in which Kara wanted to show her headmistress she could be strong and take her wrath. It was an unnecessary endeavour. Kara didn’t need to be strong, and Lena felt some determination in teaching her that.

“Please!” Kara wailed when the strap cracked the back of her shaking thigh a third time. “Please I’m sorr—” She stopped suddenly and breathed, chest shaking, neck slackened forward until her sobbing face pressed to the wood. “Thank you, Headmistress.” She remembered herself.

“You are most welcome, my girl.” Lena took some small amount of pity and gathered a sweaty pile of hair off her spine. “This hurts me more than it hurts you, Miss Danvers. I like investing my time in you. I would much prefer for that time to be a pleasant endeavour for both of us — but I cannot reward a blatant lack of commitment to your instructed tasks.”

“I understand, Headmistress.” Kara shuddered and nodded her head. “More please?” she whispered.

Lena nodded and said nothing despite the impressiveness. She wandered back to her row of tools, fingers traipsing the floggers, the shiny smooth canes, then finally she settled on something with just the right substance. Lena lingered there for a moment, her ear tuned to nothing but the troublemaker’s laboured breaths. It was the sound of a woman suffering, and it was the sound of a woman ready for more. 

The paddle would certainly see to that, Lena had no doubt.

[Find more about the sermon of Christ and how you can service the Lord's mission HERE](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

[ MUSIC FOR THE CHAPTER ](https://www.youtuberepeat.com/watch?v=WmXuQxECqrs)

**TW: HEAVY INTRO TO THIS CHAPTER**

Her bottom was black when all was said and done some two hours after they had began, blood drawn by the paddle smeared here and there over her cheeks. The colours were deep and horrendously violent, like thunderclouds and darkened storms painted across Kara’s shaking backside. Outwardly, Lena showed no pity or remorse. On the inside, she wanted nothing more than to take the wailing little girl in her arms and make it all go away.

“I’m so sorry,” Kara broke into a thousand pieces, sobbing so hard she could not breathe or understand that it was finished and had been done for some minutes now. “I won’t disappoint you again, Headmistress! I’m so sorry!” She squealed like a lamb being led to slaughter on its braced knees.

“It’s done, Kara, it’s over,” Lena reassured gently and did not dare to touch her. “It’s all done, you took your punishment and paid penance. It’s done, sweet girl. Just breathe and compose yourself,” she urged calmly, well aware it was having no affect.

Lena began to doubt herself and realise the seriousness of this. She had never beaten a woman to this extreme before, let alone a largely-inexperienced little girl who clearly needed her guidance and tutelage. Spare the rod, spoil the girl. Lena had always believed that. This… felt antithetical to her staunchly held beliefs on how she should conduct herself. There was nothing measured or productive about what she had done. Deep down, she knew she had beaten Kara past what was decent. Lena had done it because Kara had asked for more, and now she was beginning to realise the little fool was perhaps too caught up in her ambition to prove herself most impressive to her headmistress. 

Lena did not dare touch her.

Lena did not dare move a muscle.

“I’m sorry!” Kara squealed and wouldn’t stop, her spine shaking on top of the desk while her legs gave out completely beneath her. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am!” Her voice became a high-pitched noise that tilted upwards with a squeal, pained and inconsolable.

Lena’s eyes darted to the wooden floor beneath her little troublemaker’s legs. The puddle grew involuntarily, splashing and dribbling, and Lena tore her eyes away in utter horror. She had reduced her precious girl to this, pained, her dignity stripped, wetting herself in fear that more suffering was to come.

It was her job to be deliberate and purposeful in her endeavours, it was her job to protect and guide and elevate her little troublemaker into the most excellent version of herself possible. Lena had not done that. Lena had gave into temptation, lost sight of herself, acted recklessly simply because her little girl had asked and didn’t know any better. This was the consequence of indulging her own perverted sexual desires. She had snatched a profound dignity away, and lost her own in the process.

“Kara,” Lena lost every ounce of character from her voice, aware her tone was shaking and human in a way she never let anyone hear. “It’s done. I’m not going to hit you again, Kara. The punishment went too far and I should have stopped it. We’re done, full stop, I’m not going to hurt you,” she felt her own throat ache.

“I… I…” Kara stuttered and became frantic. “But I asked for it, I asked for more and more—”

“And I should have been the voice of reason and done what was best for you,” Lena hushed and moved around the desk. Her cheeks were so pink and swollen, Lena cradled them with both hands as gently as she could. “I’m going to take you upstairs and clean you up, and I’m going to bring you back down to planet earth, and when you’re ready I’m going to make sure you get home safe.” She moved strands of blonde hair out of her eyes.

“But I want to stay with you, Headmistress,” Kara’s tears started anew. “I want to be with you, Ma’am.”

“It’s just Lena.” She closed her eyes. “You can just call me Lena.”

“I don’t want to call you that,” Kara shook her head.

“I don’t offer it to just anyone, you know.”

“But you’re my—”

“I know, I know I am.” Lena couldn’t bare the thought of that word right now, not after what she had done. “One step at a time, okay? Let’s get you upstairs and take care of you, that’s first priority.”

She picked Kara up in her arms, and when the little girl winced and whimpered from the soreness, Lena made herself more gentle than she knew she could be with another person. Kara tucked herself in and pressed her cheek to Lena’s shoulder, whimpering but somewhat soothed.

“Ma’am,” Kara’s wide eyes caught the puddle below the desk, her body growing tight and embarrassed in Lena’s arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that.” Her chest tightened with tears again.

“I don’t care about that,” Lena hushed and kissed the top of her hair. “Don’t apologise, you didn’t do anything naughty. You’re a good girl, everything is okay, I’m going to put you in the bath and get you some fresh clothes and we’ll fix this.” She was hopeful, but not entirely certain.

“Please don’t make me leave, Headmistress.”

“I won’t make you.”

***

Miss Luthor’s home was nothing like Kara had anticipated. She had grunge band posters framed in the hallway for a start, and the bathroom had so many skincare products littered over the counter space that Kara couldn’t understand how one woman owned and used so many. Miss Luthor was suddenly human, a whole picture, her life on display, and Kara was no longer sure whether that was a good thing.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Kara murmured when the green tea was placed beside the bathtub, the guilty creature crouching down to fret and worry some more.

“You don’t have to call me that, sweet girl—”

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me and it’s making me worried,” Kara blurted nervously.

“Don’t be worried,” Miss Luthor was utterly calm. “It’s nothing more than intention and reception. When you call me Headmistress, it’s because I’m being your Headmistress. When you call me Miss Luthor, it’s because I’m being your professional superior. Right now… I am neither of those things. I’m just Lena, okay?”

“Why can’t you be all three?”

“Because humans are fallible to failure. Myself included, sweet girl.” Kara still didn’t feel ready to call her anything other than what she already knew. “Mind if I take a look at your bottom?”

“Will you be gentle?” Miss Luthor seemed ashamed at the question.

“I’ll be very, very gentle with you,” she promised.

Vascular hands dipped beneath the water and gently rolled Kara to her side. Kara whimpered from the pain, it was severe and delicious, brutal and clarifying. If there was anything Kara had always deeply suspected about herself and since been proven correct about, it was that pain represented something different to her than it did other people. She saw pain as a great cleanser of self-loathing and guilt, a tool that absolved and made her feel whole. It hurt, it made her feel tiny, and Kara _liked_ those feelings.

Miss Luthor released a worried noise regardless, her fingers barely traced over the broken skin but it was enough to make Kara flinch. Miss Luthor retracted them away, guiltily.

“Kara I’m so sorry.”

“I wanted it, Ma’am. I don’t—” Kara felt a rock form in her throat. “I don’t understand why you don’t believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Miss Luthor reassured. “I just need you to believe that this isn’t what I wanted. I don’t ever want to make you truly frightened of me, not to the point where you wet yourself, that is not a positive exchange for either of us.”

The timing was wrong, Kara knew that, and she did not utter a single peep about the sudden thoughts swirling in her head. The thought of the subtext, that perhaps there could be a punishment in the headmistress’s office where that was something they planned and anticipated as part of a fantasy… it filled her with all sorts of dirty ideas. Ones that perhaps were best never seeing the light of day.

“Will you tell me something about you that I don’t know?” Kara sighed and turned back around with a slosh of water.

“Why?”

“You’re asking me to see you as someone I don’t know, Ma’am. I only have my boss and my Headmistress to reference. It makes it hard to see you as…” Still, Kara felt uncomfortable saying her first name, as though it would be an act of sacrilege.

Miss Luthor flexed her jaw and seemed uncomfortable, as though sharing bits and pieces of herself was not her forte. Kara understood that was who she was, distant and disconnected, otherworldly, it was what made her so magnetising. But things had changed somewhat, and Kara craved to understand her better if only because she was finally seeing that all of this was perhaps rooted in Miss Luthor’s damage more than her own.

“I smoke weed sometimes.”

“You do what?” Kara balked in shock and earned a laugh.

“Only sometimes,” she said, smirking a tiny bit at the surprised little face in the bathtub. “For medicinal purposes, mainly.”

“Medicinal purposes?” Kara blinked and couldn’t make sense of it.

“Miss Luthor is concerned only with the job, with executing it perfectly, with nothing but striving to her next achievement. The Headmistress is concerned only with installing those values in you,” she closed her eyes and opened them again, suddenly human and perhaps a little nervous. “Lena, however, has cyclothymia and obsessive compulsive disorder. And so smoking a little pot from time to time helps if I feel anxious or stuck in a compulsion.”

“Did something bad happen to you?”

“Nothing, sweet girl. I was just born like it. I found lots of different ways to deal,” Lena shrugged. “I take the medicine, I live my life, I sometimes smoke weed if I need to calm down or just… finish marking a big stack of papers.”

“Will you tell me another thing?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

“I know that already.”

“I once ate eleven tacos in one sitting.”

“Child’s play,” Kara said instantly, and earned a hard laugh. “Fifteen would have been impressive, eleven is just brunch.”

“What do you think, sweet girl. can I be Lena for now?” She lifted an amused eyebrow.

“I think so,” Kara smiled and suddenly felt human too. “Hi Lena, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Kara.” She hung her chin on the edge of the bathtub.

Lena beamed a radiantly warm smile, amused and enthralled. “Will you tell me something about yourself, Kara?”

“I’ve been having an inappropriate relationship in the workplace with my boss for the last four months. She found erotic stories I wrote about her on the internet, now we pretend she’s my headmistress and I’m her naughty school girl.” Kara blinked and pushed a lazy smile. “I accidentally wet myself in her office earlier, she was very graceful about it.”

“I’m sure she was.” Lena bit the corners of a grin and drew a warm cloth over a tiny bruise on her arm. “Is that what it is for you, with your boss, pretense?” She looked up quite seriously.

“Not in the slightest,” Kara answered honestly. 

It made crimson lips push into a sincere smile.

“Good, that’s good. Would you like something to eat?” Lena offered.

“Could we go back downstairs to your office afterwards?” Kara asked innocently.

Lena flinched. Her face changed almost imperceptibly, her jaw flexing a tiny bit as though it were a repulsive idea. She licked her lips and forced an uncomfortable smile.

“Would it be okay if we didn’t?” Her green eyes peered up. “I cannot be Headmistress right now, Kara, and if I can’t be that in purpose and intention then I do not want to pretend.”

“Well, do you have good snacks?”

“The best.”

“Then that sounds okay too.”

***

“So you had a Headmistress?” Kara needed to make sure she was getting the facts correct. “A Headmistress the way that you’re Headmistress to me?”

“Once upon a time,” Lena remained terse, her eyes fixed on the murmuring television. “I was younger than you, she was older than me. It was an important relationship in my life.”

“What was she like?” The question made Lena smile.

“That’s a long story, a private one too.”

“We’ve done stranger things, Ma’am.”

Kara dipped her nose into the t-shirt over Lena’s belly as she laughed and relented. She closed her eyes as a manicured hand settled on the back of her bare thigh and clutched the little naked listener closer.

Madame Archambault, Kara learned that was her name. She was French, a Headmistress at a college for unruly young girls who belonged to upper-echelon families who had the means to send their wayward daughters to the west of Europe. Kara couldn’t imagine Miss Luthor having ever been unruly or wild, and she didn’t have to. She was with a strange new woman called Lena now, curled up in her apartment, gleaning the cover notes of her Headmistress’s life as though they were two seperate people who simply knew one another deeply, once upon a time at least.

“So you were her actual student?” Kara felt uncomfortable with that information.

“Yes,” Lena said, well aware of the ethics. “And then I was her teaching assistant. It wasn’t appropriate, she never tried to fool me otherwise.”

“You were her teaching assistant too? Parallels, parallels.”

“You didn’t think it was just the dirty stories, did you?” Lena smirked into the lip of her t-shirt and kept her eyes trained on the television.

Kara thought about it. “No, I guess I didn’t think it was just the stories,” she admitted.

“She made me better. It was an important relationship in my life, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her or the focus and restraint she taught me.” Lena petted the pile of blonde hair on her belly. “This is to say, I believe in what I do with you. It’s not a game to me. I want you to take those important lessons with you when you leave the school next year—” Kara snapped her head up and it halted the conversation.

“What are you talking about when I leave the school next year?” She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“You’re half way through an eighteen month contract, Kara,” she laughed slightly, as though only stating the obvious. “You can’t be a TA forever. Now you’ve completed your thesis you have to do something when you’re awarded your masters degree.”

“I thought…” Kara stalled and blinked.

“You thought what?” Lena became concerned.

Kara wasn’t sure of what she had thought. Of course, she couldn’t be a teaching assistant forever. She had dreams. She had aspirations. She had more things she wanted to go on to achieve. The trouble was that she just hadn’t figured them out yet, but who in their early-twenties had the whole picture anyway? Kara hadn’t thought about what would happen after next year, and the truth was that she didn’t particularly want to. In the absence of thought, there was only her perfect world with the Headmistress.

The world where she felt she belonged the most.

“Kara,” Lena licked her lips and grew pensive. “Please tell me you’ve thought about what you want to do next year?”

“I told you before,” Kara brushed it off with a deep swallow. “I’ll take another long-distance masters course. I might, I might stay here for another year—”

“You have three degrees, Kara.”

“Three is less than four.”

“Stop,” Lena cupped her cheek and moved the hair behind her ear. “Kara, you have to think about what you’re going to do with your life because you cannot stay here forever. Our relationship will end and you will move on, and you will walk away _better_ because we shared it together. That is the deal.”

“Is that what your Headmistress did?” Kara scoffed and pulled away. “Just packed you up and sent you off when she decided you were ready to fly the nest, maybe sent you a postcard from time to time? If that’s supposed to sound forbiddenly romantic…”

“It isn’t,” Lena became firm and authoritative, her eyes reclaiming some of that staunchness that had been imperceptibly lost. “My Headmistress started an inappropriate relationship with me while I was a student and tried to keep me at her side long after she had ran out of lessons to depart because she didn’t want to let me go. That, my dear, was a great selfishness and abuse of power. I am many things, but I’m not selfish or abusive.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Kara huffed beneath her breath. When she caught the instant sense of hurt in those green eyes, she regretted it immediately.

“Let’s get you dressed and get you home,” Lena cleared a knot from her throat and stood from the sofa. “I’m so sorry for tonight. I acted inappropriately, on many levels.”

“Lena I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.” Kara moved to grab her wrist. “You’re not selfish or abusive.”

“You have not done anything wrong, Miss Danvers,” Lena gently pulled her wrist away, her voice suddenly emotionless in the way it was before, the way it was with everyone in the school: faintly cordial and entirely distant. “I apologise. I thought bringing you into my home would be the sensible thing to do in order to take proper care of you, I fear it may have been short-sighted and confused boundaries further. I’m going to make sure you get home safe, we will have a conversation at a later date when you have had some time to work through the things you wish to discuss with me about what took place tonight.” She pulled her long jet black hair into a bun, spine turned and shoulders spreading with the size of her shaking breaths.

“Lena there is nothing to say about tonight,” Kara reassured worriedly. “It was exactly what I needed it to be.”

“If you haven’t thought about what you want from your life beyond me and my office, Miss Danvers,” her voice was firm and totally clinically, her eyes cold and glazed as she turned back around. “Then I fear none of this has been what you needed it to be.”

“But Miss Luthor,” Kara drew a deep breath and couldn’t bare to use her first name anymore. “Why can’t you see that I love—”

“Don’t.” Miss Luthor flinched and lifted her hand. “That is not who we are to one another, Miss Danvers,” she dropped her voice to a tight, horrified whisper.

***

In her own bed, daylight began to crack through the curtains, the chirping of birds on the brink of itself outside, Kara finally finished the last chapter and pressed upload, her chin dipping into the lip of her sweater as she closed the laptop lid and finally breathed.

_Humiliated by what she had done, the school girl thought only of the little puddle between her legs and spared no thought for the guilty headmistress behind her. She had been beaten until her bottom bled, beaten until she wet herself, and every guilt had left her body all at once with such a giant whoosh that it could not be stemmed or slowed._

_Her headmistress had given her something she had deeply needed for so long, to be beaten beyond reprieve and proved that when all the self-loathing that filled in her gaps was removed and stripped away, she would not collapse in on herself like a house without its bricks as she so deeply feared she might._

_There was still one guilty conscience in the room, and perhaps just for once, it did not belong to the naughty school girl._

_“I’m so sorry, oh you poor little thing I went too far,” Headmistress whispered with a crack in her voice. “Oh my sweet little girl, what have I done to you?” She worried and touched the bruised body atop of her desk with careful hands._

_“I’m okay,” a little voice croaked. “Th-thank you, Headmistress.”_

_“My sweet girl, whatever for?”_

_The naughty school girl grew thoughtful. “For making me better, for making me strong,” she whispered and paused. “For showing me what I’m capable of enduring.”_

_The headmistress had thought her naughty little school girl somewhat of a tiny lamb, little did she know there was a lion prowling through her corridors. That wicked little school girl, she knew what she wanted, what she could be, the mountains she could climb and topple if only she was made to see. The naughty little school girl had only ever needed a push, or perhaps a few untempered beatings. She would do great things, her headmistress had ensured it._

_“I don’t want to leave now I’ve learned my lesson, Headmistress,” the girl whispered. “Could we stay here just a little while longer?”_

_The headmistress hesitated, and the school girl felt guilty for asking her to be something other than what she was in nature and intention. A headmistress concerned herself only with raising young ladies from their unruliness and ensuring better conduct in future, elevating them to the absolute highest of their potential. She had succeeded, her job now done, but still, the girl could not bare to be without her. Still, the naughty school girl craved her guidance and support for the mountains ahead of her._

_“We can stay here for a little longer, sweet girl,” the headmistress said. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me, naughty or not.”_

_“I think I might always need you, Headmistress.”_

_“Then that will just have to be the state of things.” The headmistress drew the girl to her chest and held her so tight and fiercely protective. “I think… I think I would like it if you stayed a little longer too.”_

_“I love you, Headmistress.”_

_“I love you too,” the headmistress kissed the top of her head._

[FIND THE NEXT CHAPTER ALONG WITH EXCLUSIVES AND PROMPT FILLS HERE](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	5. The Education of Lena Luthor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Lena has flashbacks in this chapter of inappropriate encounters she had with her headmistress while still a teenager. I have included these with the intention of highlighting that when a teacher/school girl dynamic involves two people with that real-life relationship to one another, regardless of passive or active consent, it can never be anything other than abuse and grooming. I also wanted to write this chapter as a way to show Lena’s consequent emotional inner workings as she processes what that means for herself now as an adult, and how she moves forward in terms of developing a healthier relationship with Kara.
> 
> ABUSE/UNDERAGE/HEAVY CHAPTER. I HAVE WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH THE INTENTION OF MAKING THE READER VERY UNCOMFORTABLE.
> 
> PLEASE READ CAUTIOUSLY AND WITH LOVE FOR YOURSELF IF YOU NEED TO STOP AND SKIP IT, ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE ANY EXPERIENCE WITH THESE MATTERS.

A residential fortnight trip in Europe was both a vast and tiny amount of time, simultaneously. There was a long list of activities; enrichment events, visits to local cultural monuments and university open days too for the girls in their final year of preparations. The two weeks were divided between Vienna, Munich, Zurich, and a place that Lena Luthor had sworn some eleven years ago to never return.

Strasbourg, France.

When the coach crossed the boarder from Germany into Alsace, Lena remembered her youth viscerally as though she were still in the worst and best years of her life. The worst because her parents had banished their problem child half-way across the world to a country she did not know, the best because it was where she had found Madame Archambault.

She had written to Madame Archambault some months ago when the trip had been finalised, weeks had passed, and just when Lena gave up hopes of a response, an envelope with an airmail stamp landed across her desk. 

Inside, there was no response letter as such. Lena had instead been sent a brown appointment card for the Headmistress’s office at the school she had once been a pupil of many years before. Madame Archambault had offered the invitation, and despite her best intentions otherwise, Lena knew it was a meeting she wouldn’t miss for the world.

The walk up the stone steps to the Headmistress’s office was as intimidating now as a thirty-something year old woman as it had been when she was just a girl. The dusky sunset shone through stained glass windows until the corridors were cast in hues of red and blue, everything soaked in fantastic colours that her memories had long since lost the crispness to. She grieved for that, to have lived so long that the vividness of her life had grown fainter with time. The years she had spent here were formative and life-changing. Lena wanted to remember it all perfectly, for better or for worse.

“Hello you,” Madame Archambault whispered and stood from her desk as the door pushed open.

She was in her fifties and still utterly stunning, the kind of woman who would stall and turn heads everywhere she went with curled locks of vibrant red hair and gorgeous grey eyes, a jawbone so fine and slender it could cut precious stones. Madame Archambault was older now, and she was beautiful, and Lena wished she wasn’t enthralled by it.

“Hello you,” Lena greeted in turn, calm and absent from herself.

“I thought you were never going to come back.” Madame Archambault stood from her desk and walked around, the same santal perfume from years before getting all up in Lena’s nose as she grew closer. “My goodness, look at you.” Her grey eyes grew fond, her fingers delicately tracing the side of Lena’s emotionless face. “You’re a woman now.” She almost couldn’t make sense of it.

“I apologise that I’m not a little girl anymore. It must be difficult for you, Madame Archambault,” Lena craved to punish and hurt her.

“You were never a little girl, Lena.” She fluttered her steely eyes open once again. “You just weren’t yet a woman.” She smiled faintly.

Madame Archambault shrugged and turned back for her desk, as though the facts of what she had done so many years before were inconsequential. It enraged Lena. She was a teacher now too and understood what had happened between them was a boundary that should never, ever be crossed. It enraged Lena most of all because, still, all these years later, the only way she could maintain and keep herself controlled and deliberate was to hold herself against Madame Archambault’s strict standards and lessons.

She hadn’t been much more than a little girl, no older than fifteen maybe, when the relationship first started. Madame Archambault should have never had done those things. The trouble was, Lena feared the woman she might have become had Madame Archambault never forced her on the straight and narrow. 

“I still hate you,” Lena whispered almost beneath her breath. “In case you were wondering, that is still the state of things since we last spoke.”

“And I still love you.” Madame Archambault remained unmoved and untouched. “In case you were wondering, that is still the state of things since I saw you last.”

“I’ve achieved greatness, you told me once that I had to stay by your side in order to be safe.” Lena stood straighter and knew she wasn’t making sense, that she looked nothing more than a lost little girl desperate to prove something. “I’ve achieved—”

“Quiet,” Madame Archambault softly silenced her with a lift of the finger. “You need not explain. You have achieved, and I have proudly watched and been proven wrong, and again, that is the state of things.” She smiled. “Sit down Lena or close the door on your way out. I have never abided your insolence, I won’t start now.”

Lena’s feet betrayed her, like an out of body experience, her muscles moved of their own volition and she watched herself obey her headmistress and sit in front of the desk.

“I can’t decide if you’re the woman who saved my life or the demon that destroyed it,” Lena muttered beneath her breath and rubbed where her pristinely pulled back hair met the temple.

“My dearest, you’re asking yourself the wrong question altogether.” Madame Archambault leaned back in her leather chair and folded her knee over the other. “What you should be asking is how it’s possible that I am indeed both.”

***

She is awoken from her dormitory bed with a firm hand shaking her shoulder. The other girls laid asleep in small piles of blankets and sheets, stacked on top of one another in bunk beds that did not stir or notice the intrusion. Lena rubbed her face and caught a stern, steely grey stare peering down at her and a tightly wound jaw flexing back and forth.

The Headmistress lifted the burnt end of a joint between her pinched thumb and finger. Fuck, Lena rubbed her bleary eyes and realised she hadn’t flushed it down the toilet this afternoon like she was supposed to.

“This was discovered earlier today inside of your desk by your form tutor, Miss Luthor. Put your shoes on and come with me.”

“It’s not mine,” Lena lied and pushed the Headmistress’s hand off of her shoulder. “I’ve been here for less than three weeks and you don’t let us go down into the town at weekends. Where the fuck do you think I’m going to buy weed from?”

Calm and unmoved, Madame Archambault inhaled and leaned down mere inches from Lena’s face. The distinct smell of her perfume lingering in Lena’s nose.

“Put your slippers on and come with me,” she whispered with a blisteringly authoritative tone, her teeth gritted against one another fiercely. “Or I will pull your underthings down here and now and take you over my knee in front of the other girls. Believe me, my girl, you do not want that.”

“Yes Madame Archambault,” Lena whispered.

Inside her office, the portraits loomed over Lena like an audience to her dressing down. The Headmistress was fuming, pacing around with poise and lashings of disgust in her voice as Lena sat hunched and pretended to be sorry. 

She had been expelled from six schools in the last three years, and truth be told, Lena was not phased by the prospect of making it seven. That was perhaps the only way Lena knew how to live up to her family’s knack for overachievement.

“I’m sorry, Madame Archambault,” Lena’s lips wobbled perfectly, her eyes almost pearling with tears that had to be forced and brought about willfully in order to be convincing. “It was just the one joint. One of the older girls gave it to me and I felt pressured—”

“You will be sorry when I make you sorry, my girl.” Madame Archambault scruffed her by the neck with sharp manicured nails and dragged her up to her feet. “Panties to your knees and hold your nightie up around your waist, I suggest you pull them down quickly lest I hang you from the damn ceiling by them.”

In a foreign country, Lena couldn’t be sure whether this kind of punishment was par for the course, a thing that she should have considered and yet not thought about at all. She stood there stalled, her knees knocking together all of a sudden. The Headmistress stepped around and Lena caught the blistering look in her pale grey eyes, she suddenly did not dare to chance it.

“I should hope you are crying,” Madame Archambault scolded the embarrassed tears as underthings came down around Lena’s slender thighs. “Do you think your wickedness is any match for me, my girl? Do you think I haven’t had worse girls than you come through my doors?” The Headmistress prowled around her.

“N-no, Headmistress,” Lena stuttered.

“What other drugs have you taken in the past, Miss Luthor?”

“None Ma’am,” the young girl’s response was instinctive.

“Lie to me and I will cut you down like a thistle,” Madame Archambault whipped her backside with the cane in her hand. “Lie to me and I will scorch the ground where you stand, Miss Luthor.”

Lena jolted and clung to the hem of her night dress, eyes snapped wide and mouth wretched in a silent agonised cry from the compounded pain in her rear end. Never in her life had she been struck in punishment, but the realisation came to her quickly that, while painful, she could tolerate this in order to save face. Lena had never admitted an accusation that had been levelled against her, regardless of evidence, and she refused to begin now.

“I read your previous files, Miss Luthor.” The Headmistress stepped back around with the cane tucked beneath her arm. “You’re a troubled girl, indeed. They say at your last school you thinly avoided juvenile detention thanks to your family’s lawyers. Six grams of—”

“I know what they found in my locker,” Lena interrupted, huffing for air and adamant despite knowing otherwise. “It wasn’t mine.”

“Troubled and tough, we’ll soon put that right.” Madame Archambault nodded, frightfully calm and deliberate.

A hand grabbed a fistful of jet black hair and Lena found herself promptly dragged to the bathroom in the corner of Madame Archambault’s office. She fought, hands slapping and feet dragging, but she was no match for the older woman. The Headmistress almost threw her over the side of the bathtub, a hand spreading her shoulderblades down into porcelain while her trembling backside hung over the edge.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, Miss Luthor, but you’ve left me with very little alternative,” The Headmistress sighed and pushed the night dress up her spine in bunches. “I should imagine you might fair well, my girl, you do enjoy putting all manner of foul things inside of your body after all.”

“What are you doing?” Lena wrestled and panicked as her bottom was touched, her cheeks spread open until nothing was left to the imagination.

The sink faucet was turned on, the water not splattering into the porcelain but rather glugging as though something were being filled up. Lena didn’t understand, but regardless, her body froze still and tight, every muscle stiff, her knuckles curling so hard that half-crescent moons were dug into the palm.

“You are going to tell me every disgusting thing you have put inside of your body. You are going to be shameful, and humiliated, broken down and raised from your depravity, and when you have confessed every sin there is to confess.” The Headmistress paused her speech, and Lena looked up just in time to see her hang what appeared to be a hot water bottle off the rail. “Then you will be forgiven, my girl.” The Headmistress spread her cheeks and pushed something inside of her bottom. 

Lena wailed instinctively, the intrusion was not painful but the humiliation was horrifying regardless. Spine trembling, green eyes snapped wide, she did not dare move a single muscle. The Headmistress seemed to pause over her, and then Lena felt a delicate hand lightly rub the small of her back while something slender nestled inside of her backside.

“Breathe,” Madame Archambault whispered. “I don’t wish to draw this suffering out any longer than necessary, but I will not continue until you _breathe_ and settle.”

Slowly, Lena did as she was told.

“Much better Lena.” The Headmistress hummed. Lena watched the shadow of her arm reach up towards the rubber bag.

Cold water instantly glugged and filled her insides, clenching muscles, contracting her stomach, hurting and swelling in a way that made her sob so hard a breath couldn’t be taken and held in her chest. The Headmistress wasn’t frantic or cruel-tongued, her hand rubbed the length of Lena’s back as though she was a thing to be pitied.

“I’m sorry, no, no, no, please I’m sorry!” Lena’s cry became high-pitched, her voice barely coherent.

“Let’s try this again, Miss Luthor. What drugs have you taken in the past?” A firm hand reached beneath her body and squeezed her filling stomach.

Water sloshed inside of her bloated pushed out belly, too much of it to allow her to think of a lie or half-truth. Lena sobbed and slapped the bottom of the bathtub, her hips hanging over the edge while the contents of the enema gushed relentlessly.

“No, don’t you dare do that,” the Headmistress hushed and prevented her from pushing the water out. “If you dribble or void, we will be here all night.” She was as calm as Sunday about the procedure to hand.

“I can’t hold it!” Lena broke into pieces and clenched her eyes shut. “Please, Headmistress, I can’t—”

“Don’t think about it, just do it.” The Headmistress smoothed her spine again. “What drugs have you taken? Don’t think twice about it, just tell me the truth.”

“Everything! It was mine, okay?” Lena burst. “Everything they found was mine.” Her neck hung forward in utter shame.

“The marijuana?” Madame Archambault queried it calmly.

“Yes Headmistress,” Lena quietly wept in shame, calm and cracked in half.

“The pills too?” Lena managed a small sobbing nod. “And I suppose the six grams of various powders were yours as well?” The Headmistress sighed.

“Yes Headmistress.” Green eyes snapped open as the nozzle was pulled out of her backside. “I’m sorry, Headmistress.”

“Are you ever going to put such foul things inside of your body again?” her faintly foreign accent hissed.

“Never Ma’am, I promise,” Lena whimpered and barely held on to her dignity.

“You may relieve yourself,” Madame Archambault promptly returned to her office and closed the door.

After Lena voided, her cheeks swollen and pink with tears, any armour of pride she had ever owned swiftly destroyed, the trudge back into the Headmistress’s office was fearful and ashamed. To her surprise, she was not greeted with reprimand.

“Good girl,” The Headmistress gently pulled the back of her neck towards her chest and held her just so. “You’re a good girl, you took your punishment, you admitted your wrongs, there is nothing left to be sorry for now,” she hushed and pressed her slender jaw on top of Lena’s scalp.

“I’m—” Lena stuttered and realised she truly, truly meant it. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t,” Madame Archambault whispered. “Your apology is accepted, and you are forgiven my girl. Take yourself off to bed, you can sleep with a clear conscience.”

In the morning, something almost imperceptible had changed inside of Lena. She was sore, and she was humiliated, and most of all she was different than she had been the day before; a weight she never knew she had been carrying was lifted from her shoulders. 

It dawned on her that nobody had ever praised her like that, allowed her to be earnest in her transgressions, and then told her she was a good girl after and truly meant it. She trudged her way back to the Headmistress’s office some time after morning period and knocked on the door three times succinctly, desperate to prove conviction to her promise.

“Entre,” a French voice called from inside. When Lena walked in so soon after their last meeting, Madame Archambault’s eyes narrowed in accusation. “You better not have been sent by a teacher, young lady.”

Lena cast her eyes down to Madame Archambault’s feet, shaking her head and unable to meet her acute stare. She placed her clasped hands in front of her plaid skirt and swallowed hard.

“I meant what I said last night, Headmistress, that I was sorry.”

“And I meant what I said, Miss Luthor. You were punished and forgiven—” The Headmistress stopped as Lena began rooting through her satchel, small wrapped bundles of suspicious contents were produced and placed on her desk. “What is that, Miss Luthor?”

Lena hung her head in shame. “Everything I brought with me to France, Headmistress,” she whispered. “That’s all of it, I promise.”

The surrender was met with kindness. Madame Archambault walked around the desk with a prim sense of purpose that was impenetrable and deliberate. At first, Lena couldn’t tell her emotions, whether she was upset or pleased, but then a soft palm caught her cheek and two pale grey eyes locked with her own.

“Good girl, Lena.”

***

She stood in the Headmistress’s office, past midnight, the world outside asleep and unaware of their meeting, completely naked and bare with her hands clasped behind her back. Madame Archambault ordered her clothes off, and Lena did as she was told. The Headmistress must always be met with humility, and Lena did not question her methods. The positive changes within herself were recognisable to everyone around her, and Lena didn’t want the Headmistress to stop making her a good girl. Whatever the cost.

“The teachers complain that you won’t focus on your lessons, Lena, too occupied with ordering the things on your desk and then rearranging them. Your house mother says you do the same with your personal items, ordering them, tidying, rearranging, over and over again…” The headmistress came undone with a concerned sigh.

“I’m just tidy.”

“I think it goes beyond that,” Madame Archambault stood from her desk and peered inside of Lena’s satchel. “What would happen if I placed your things on my desk in an order you deemed wrong?”

“Please don’t,” Lena panicked slightly and didn’t know why. “Please, please don’t do that Headmistress.”

“Why?” Madame Archambault furrowed her brow.

“Because I’m asking politely, Ma’am,” Lena tried again.

“But what would happen if I touched and ordered your things?” She tilted her head, confused. “If they’re just things… if you’re simply just tidy… then surely it would not be the end of the world to see them placed how I arrange them?” She dipped her hand inside the satchel and put her red textbook on the desk’s wooden surface.

Lena grew still and tight. She didn’t understand what this was about or why her brain was screaming at her that this was wrong. She felt as though something terrible was about to happen. It didn’t make sense. They were just things, just innocuous objects, and Lena understood that perfectly. Then Madame Archambault placed the yellow notebook beside the red textbook, and a fistful of pens were sent rolling over the top of them. Lena’s brain went into a scatter.

“You seem on edge, Miss Luthor?” The young girl snatched her eyes away and couldn’t bare to look at the desk, at her desecrated things that were being placed one at a time in chaos and disorder. “Lena, bring your focus back to my desk please.”

“I can’t!” Lena huffed between her teeth.

“You can and you will,” the Headmistress was firm and calm. She walked over to Lena, her hands finding two slender little biceps. “Look at me, sweet girl, just look at me for a moment.”

Lena slowly blinked and found her Headmistress’s gaze.

“We’re going to look at them together, Miss Luthor. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” her voice was calm and loving. “What is wrong with what you see?”

Lena stared at the desk and felt furious without cause, because her things were in the wrong order, and if they were in the wrong order then something terrible would happen. She couldn’t explain the logic, she simply felt it in her body as truth.

“The books aren’t supposed to be touching.” She snatched her eyes back to Madame Archambault. “The pens. The pens aren’t in the right order and they _have_ to be in the right order.”

“What would happen if I switched the pen lids?” Her hand moved towards the contents on the desk.

“Please don’t!” Lena wailed and shattered. “Please stop. I don’t—I don’t understand why you’re ruining my things,” she whimpered, voice broken and tears stinging.

“It’s a stop, it’s a full stop, I’m not going to touch your things anymore—” The young girl pushed past her and rushed to the desk, making her tiny insular world right, putting things back where they were supposed to be, positively shaken and unable to contain it. “Lena, breathe, just breathe, it’s okay,” Madame Archambault whispered.

“It’s not okay!” Lena hissed.

“Just breathe,” The Headmistress stilled her with a hand on the back of her twitching shoulderblade. “I know a very, very good psychiatrist in the town—”

“My parents will not hear of such things,” Lena said instantly.

“We’re not going to tell them,” Madame Archambault whispered and drew the spooked girl to her chest. “You and I will go into town tomorrow evening and see him, just our secret. Your parents need not know about any of this, Lena, they need not know of _any_ of it,” The Headmistress rubbed her back.

***

“You want a spanking and yet you have committed no crime, Miss Luthor.” Madame Archambault smirked slightly. “You’re becoming quite the thorn in my side, little girl,” she teased.

“I like being close to you. I don’t have many months left before I finish school and I want to make the most of it.” She shrugged.

Lena wandered around the office and gleaned in the Headmistress’s personal possessions, they were rearranged and put in such an order that the sixteen year old girl was allowed to decide and manage. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the psychiatrist had diagnosed it as such. Madame Archambault said that it was not a flaw of mind or character, merely something that had to be honed and directed towards purpose and intention. That made Lena feel safe in a way she wasn’t sure she had ever felt before.

“Don’t return to America,” Madame Archambault spoke up softly out of nowhere.

“What do you mean?” Lena peered at her teacher, her heart in a clutch. “As in stay here with you?”

“Yes, my girl, as in stay here with me for you sixth form education.” She smiled sincerely. “Perhaps afterwards you might think to apply for university here too...”

“Anyone might think you were asking me to be your girlfriend,” Lena chewed a tiny smile and peered down at her feet.

“They might think that, wouldn’t they?” The Headmistress rose from her seat and walked to the young girl twisting by the fireplace giddily. “This relationship is inappropriate. We both know that. I shouldn’t want it, Lena, and yet I do.”

“Because I’m special?” Lena peered up at her.

“The most special thing in the world, to me.” The Headmistress tucked a rope of jet black hair behind her ear. “Where you see faults I see potential for greatness. I want to be the Mistress you submit that responsibility too, my girl.” She drew Lena’s palm towards her heart.

The Headmistress took her that afternoon as nobody had touched Lena’s body before. She curled over Madame Archambault’s lap, clutching her knee, drawing fast hard breaths as the Headmistress gently stroked and touched and taught her carnal pleasure.

“Do you love me?” Lena stifled a whimper against the older woman’s thigh.

“I love you, Lena,” Madame Archambault promised and stroked her hair.

“You… you promise?”

“I promise. I will keep you safe, always, and I will make you better. I will be the hand that gives, the hand that takes, the hand to which you submit yourself and trust in my judgements.” Lena whimpered with a tightly throttled hiss, her hips shifting and moving back and forth as slender fingers broke something inside of her body. “Good girl, just breathe, you’re okay, just relax into it.”

***

A thirty-something year old woman sat at the desk and simultaneously existed as a sixteen year old girl. Lena stared at her aged Headmistress, and then she peered at the chair in which she had lost her virginity. Her memories were compounded things, wonderful at the time, and now spoiled by the truth that they were wrong. She was a child, whether she was sixteen or not when the sexual relationship began, and those things were abusive and predatory. 

Lena knew it, and still she felt some sense of tenderness for the woman opposite her with whom she had spent six years of her life til she had left at the age of twenty-two. Madame Archambault had loved her, made her into the woman she was now. It was compounded, and Lena felt no need right now to unravel it all in this moment.

“Our relationship was inappropriate Lena. I loved you, and that was wrong. It came with great consequence to my judgement. So yes, I am the woman who saved you and the woman who stole from you too. I am both.”

“To say the very least,” Lena scratched her neck.

“My intentions to raise you to your full potential however?”

“Purposeful and deliberate, I know. I’m trying to figure out how to do and be the same.” Lena sighed. “The hand that gives, the hand that takes, the judgement above all other. How to be that and not… also confuse it with romantic intention. I think some things are better not reliving in that regard.”

“Ah.” Madame Archambault pulled back suddenly and nodded. “You have an unruly little troublemaker of your own, that’s why you came, you’re growing too fond of the girl.”

Lena pushed her tongue into the side of her cheek and nodded.

“Is she as willful in her notions as you once were?” The Headmistress smiled.

“Perhaps.” Lena nodded. “Kara is very special. I’m determined on making something quite remarkable out of her.”

“Do you think of us when you discipline her?” Madame Archambault had that look in her eye that dared an untruthful answer. “Do you think of me when she calls you Headmistress?”

“Sometimes, yes I do.” Lena nodded.

“Do you ever envy her and crave for what once was?” The question made Lena stall.

“Yes,” Lena inhaled a deep breath. “Sometimes I do.”

Madame Archambault drew a deep breath that stiffened her spine, her eyes suddenly unyielding and authoritative. There was an air about her, impenetrable and mighty. She lifted her chin and stared at Lena as though she were a still an insolent little pupil, and despite herself, Lena transformed into that role too.

“One last time for life’s highway?” The Headmistress lifted a brow. “Stand up, Lena, humble yourself as you know to do upon entering this office.”

Lena rose from the chair and felt her body slip into an automatic rhythm, totally absent from herself, wanting this if only to clutch at her once wonderful memories and make them wonderful and whole again. She was a woman now, a fine one at that, and it felt as though she needed to connect the dots in someway between her teenage years and now.

Lena turned and began to unbutton her blouse almost automatically, away with the fairies and slipping into layers of subspace that had not been ventured through in years.

“Your body has changed but you are still as beautiful as you were, my girl.” Madame Archambault stood and moved closer, her breath felt on the back of Lena’s neck and hair. “I remember how lovely and small you were. Tell me, is your little troublemaker as pretty and flat as you were at that age?”

Lena came back to herself as though she had clattered from the outer layers of space back into her body.

“Wh—what did you say?”

“Your little troublemaker,” Madame Archambault exhaled against the back of Lena’s ear. “What school year is she—”

There was a loud thunderous slap and for once, for just once in this office it was not Lena who suffered the sting. Madame Archambault stumbled backwards and clutched her slender cheek, horrified and agasp. Lena positively shook. Every anxiety she had ever felt and been soothed of, every moment they had shared together, all of it disintegrated into dust between her fingers. Finally, she understood. Finally, she saw Madame Archambault’s intentions for what they had been and still were.

The next thing Lena knew, she was on top of the Headmistress, hands wound around her wrinkled throat and teeth clenched so hard she feared they would shatter in her mouth.

“You told me it was because I was special, because you loved me, you—” Lena lost her breath in horror as she finally understood. “You groomed and sexually abused me. You planned every moment of it.”

It was a sudden truth she couldn’t accept, her body refused it, and so she stumbled backwards and grabbed her coat and tripped over her feet towards the door.

“Kara is twenty-three,” Lena turned with her hand on the doorknob, eyes wide and head spinning. “I am—and will _never_ be—anything like you. Remember this woman’s face because it’s the woman who is going to put you away for the rest of your life.”

***

Lena stared at the final chapter of the story and didn’t know what she felt anymore. She had said nothing to anyone upon her return from Europe save for the Police. That was a private matter, one that Lena felt she wanted to share with no one while the investigation continued. Lena knew, wholeheartedly, she was nothing like Madame Archambault. Kara was of age, but regardless she questioned her own machinations and intentions anyway.

What Lena perhaps felt most guilty of was that when she saw Kara shattered and sobbing over her desk, when she reached out in hopes of healing her pain, she was thinking largely of herself, and of a young girl she wanted to save and now would never be able to.

Lena grabbed her phone and clicked a name in her contacts that she had never called before from her personal number. A woman once told her not to think, just to simply do. It was now perhaps the only thing of any value that woman had ever given her.

“Hello?” Kara yawned.

“There is something I need to tell you, and I need you to be quiet and just listen.” Lena stopped and swallowed hard. “Can you do that?”

“Sure I can,” Kara whispered, suddenly awake. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Lena’s voice cracked. “I am not okay, Kara.”

“Lena,” Kara became calm and gentle, and Lena lost her breath in relief that she had not been called the wrong name. “Whatever has happened, I need you to tell me so I can help.”

“Do you remember last night when I told you about my Headmistress, from when I was younger?” Lena felt a rock form in her throat instantly. “That wasn’t the whole truth, Kara. It's... it's been a rough couple of weeks,” her tone dropped and wobbled slightly.

“I’m here. I’m hoping you’re not about to say what I think you are, but I’m here even if you do, and we will figure it out together.”

“I… I thought it was a clandestine affair. I thought that falling in love with me was simply an accident that happened because we’d grown close.” Lena inhaled hard. “I saw her while I was in Europe, Kara, and it all became excruciatingly clear what she had actually done.”

“What do you need?”

“To not feel like I’m doing something wrong when I’m with you doing something that feels so natural and right to my personhood.” Lena’s chest ached. “I’m scared she’s taken that from me too. I really, really don’t want to lose that.”

“I’m coming over Lena,” Kara exhaled and sounded as though she were rooting for clothes. “Please, can I come over?”

“I think you better. I think it’s time we really talked and figure out what we’re doing here.”

“Listen to me,” Kara paused. “You are _nothing_ like her. Please, can you say it back to me so I know you know?”

“I’m nothing like her,” Lena whispered and felt herself grow calmer. “I’m nothing like her.”

“I am a grown woman. I am an adult. What we do and who we are to one another is not the same. I’m putting my coat on, I’ll be there in three minutes.”

[Find the next chapter along with exclusive stories and updates HERE.](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

Kara didn’t understand how or when things had changed, they just simply had. A mere three days ago her world and notions of the Headmistress who reigned over it totalis were concrete and impenetrable, now they were shattered bits of debris toppled over the bedrock. The foundations were still there, but the levels that had been built up and over it had fallen. Kara was okay with that. It was a derelict building that needed to be demolished, she was simply guilty they hadn’t done that sooner.

Lena curled on one side of the bed, she curled up on the other, the two of them suddenly human in one another’s presence, and the metre that separated them felt like a mile.

Kara inhaled. “I’m sorry—”

“Please don’t,” Lena closed her eyes, uncomfortable. “I know you mean well but I do not want to be the object of your pity. I am better than that.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Kara lied instantly, throat still responsively tight from the horrific experiences she had heard from Lena’s own mouth. “I’m just sorry. I’m sorry because I wrote those stupid stories. I wrote them and I didn’t think about how horrific and abusive it would be for a teacher to actually—”

“Your erotic little fantasy stories are not the problem here, Kara.” Lena pinched the bridge of her nose. “I read them and I enjoyed reading them. It brought you to me. What the hell does that say about me? I’m the teacher here.” She grew repulsed with herself.

“You engage in a consensual power exchange with an adult woman, nothing more and nothing less.” Kara swallowed. “How you personally feel about the stories is moot, Lena. I wrote them, and I now change my mind. I wrote them, and in some small way that means I was theoretically okay with the idea of—”

“A teacher grooming and molesting a pupil?” Lena lifted a brow.

“Never!” Kara balked. 

“Good. Now you understand how stupid you sound. They were just fantasy stories based on power exchange, nothing more, nothing less,” Lena pushed a tiny smile and rubbed her temple. “I didn’t read those stories and think about my experiences in France, anyway. I read those stories and thought of you before I even knew you were the one who was writing them. When I read about the grandfather clock with the constellations, when I realised it was actually you? It was the most alive I think I have felt in years.” She seemed dumbfounded with the realisation.

Kara licked her lips and empathised completely. Her life had felt so monotonous and clinically clean, as though she had been waiting so long for an adventure that the idea of never having one altogether had become okay too. Then Miss Luthor happened, wonderful, prim, otherworldly Miss Luthor, with her coiffed jet black hair and alabaster collarbones, ghosting through the corridors like a deity concerned only with her singular purpose. 

Lena wasn’t just an adventure, she was an entire other planet, an introspective space where Kara felt safe and whole and forced to be better than she could manage on her own. The thought of losing that felt unbearable. The thought of being less than the woman she knew her headmistress could mold her into, more so.

“I still want us to do the things we do together, Lena.”

“I do too, I just don’t know how I get back to that place. I don’t want my encounters with you to simply be sexual pretense and fulfilment, Kara. I want to mold you into something better than you already are. Things have become… complicated in that regard.”

“You were right the other night,” Kara nestled against the pillow and inhaled the scent of the perfume, aware there could be no more lies between them or half-truths no matter the consequence. “I haven’t thought about what I’m doing with my life after next year. I haven’t thought about it because you came out of nowhere and suddenly… I didn’t hurt anymore. It feels like the first time in twenty-three years that I’m figuring out who I am as a person, what I enjoy, what makes me happy. So I haven’t thought beyond that, and I understand if that changes things for you.”

Lena closed her eyes and nodded. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Kara. I think… I just needed to know you weren’t planning on putting your life on hold for me.”

“Does it make me selfish that I’m not doing that?”

“No.” Two green eyes stared with utter severity. “It makes you wise, it makes you independent in ways that I need you to be for this to continue. I… I panicked when I thought you were about to say you love me.”

“I do love you, I _really_ love you, I’m sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable.” Kara made no bones about it. “I just love me more.”

“That…” Lena seemed to stall like a flooded engine, as though her fears had been proven unwarranted. “That doesn’t make me panic in the way I thought it would.”

“Good. Have you gone to the police about what happened?” Kara returned to the matter at hand. “I will go with you—”

“I have been to the police, and if it’s okay I don’t want to talk about it.” Lena blinked and seemed as though she were disconnecting from the heart-to-heart on a moment to moment basis, reclaiming herself, pushing her emotions away again one at a time. “You’re the first person I’ve shared any real sense of intimacy with in nearly ten years and I thought I owed it to you to tell the whole truth—”

“Ten years?” Kara’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. It earned a disapproving look. “Sorry. Yes, no, you’re right. That was inappropriate. It’s just... ten years of celibacy?” She winced.

“I didn’t say I was celibate. Do I strike you as someone with the interpersonal skills or wherewithal to handle a normal relationship?”

Kara thought about it. There was the urge to lie, the sudden desire to hush sweet nothings and promise that Lena could be or have anything she wanted from this world. Kara wasn’t a fool. Lena was a force to be reckoned with, the kind of woman who knew how to get what she wanted in the most efficient ways possible and knew as much about herself too. 

Kara couldn’t imagine her in any domesticated terms, there was no outline when she tried to imagine what Lena would look like with a girlfriend, a wife, a white picket fence, five years from now, ten years from now. It was simply a void that refused to be filled. Lena was the exact thing she was supposed to be: a creature of her own creation and intention, alone and fulfilled. 

“No I can’t imagine you with a girlfriend, Lena.” Kara sighed. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s because you’re damaged or broken. I think it’s the opposite.”

“The opposite?” Lena tilted her head slightly with intrigue.

“Some people need other people to fill in their blanks, to share life with, to be the reason they go off to work in the morning,” Kara reasoned quietly, her lips tugging into a smile as she stared at the blank-faced maverick opposite. “You’re private and I’m okay with that, you’re solitary and that isn’t a flaw. I love those things about you. I’ll be someone you can share your time with when it’s there to be shared, but I think you still have mountains of your own to climb. I don’t think you’re ever going to run out of them. That’s… who you are.”

“That’s who I am,” Lena whispered with a sincere look in her eyes. “And who are you, Kara Danvers?”

“A twenty-three year old girl who hasn’t figured out what she’s doing next year, apparently.” Kara scratched her head and sat up from the pillows.

“Then perhaps leading you to that revelation is who I must become for us to continue with purpose and intention.”

“I would like that.” Kara peered back down at her with a smile. “Would you like that too?”

“I believe I would, Miss Danvers.”

“Let’s go slowly,” Kara suggested. “I’ll start sending you a list of things I want to try with you. We don’t have to do them, but at least you won’t find yourself in any moral grey areas.”

“You do not dictate to me the ways in which I reward or punish as I see fit, Miss Danvers,” Miss Luthor’s lips fidgeted into a tiny smile, as though she weren’t half as serious as she wanted to be. “That was me kidding, or at least a little bit,” she whispered.

“I’m not dictating anything. I’m just going to tell you the things I want to experience, how or whether you implement them altogether is your business.”

“No more erotic stories on the internet for me to trawl through, I take it?”

“I’m not writing stupid subversive fantasies anymore, Ma’am.” Kara clambered off the bed and put her shoes on. “I’m getting everything I have ever wanted for myself. You can either be a part of it, or you can give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done. I won’t judge either way.”

“A lioness prowling through my corridors, Miss Danvers. A lioness indeed.”

***

There was a particular conundrum she now faced as both a disciplinarian and a human disconnected from such responsibilities. Lena had never questioned herself like this, her motives, her machinations, her ethics or morals when it came to _why_ she wanted the things she wanted. Now, it was all she seemed to do. Kara had wanted the beating, had begged for it, had confirmed as much afterwards, and still, Lena struggled to move past it whenever she thought back to the sobbing little creature hung over her desk. The punishment represented a watershed moment. A moral grey area that could never, ever be crossed again without clear communication and intention on both sides.

Lena wondered if part of her conflict was due to her drudged up memories of her youth in France, and the realisation of what those experiences had actually been. She worried, mostly, if her own suffering was the insidious thing that drove her desires to be Headmistress in the ways that mattered to Kara most. What Lena knew for certain was that things had changed, boundaries were necessary, and communication of their individual desires was key. Kara was right, there could be no more subversive little fantasy stories of situations they might find themselves in if the stars aligned. 

There were checks and balances now, and Lena was not intimidated by that. When boiled down to her very essence, Lena was the _definition_ of order and measure. Wherever it was they were now heading together on this journey… it was where they should have been from the very get go. Lena recognised it, and she felt guilty for not ensuring that.

There came a brief moment of relief where Lena stopped asking herself for answers about the forces that drove her altogether. She sat in her office and gleaned in the long list of fantasies her perfect little Miss Danvers wanted to suffer at her hands, things that she could never have conjured or thought of as anything other than perverse acts of depravity should she have been the one to initiate such things. There was one idea that caught her eye in particular, something that intrigued and scared her all at once.

_Punishment enemas or maybe a bar of soap in my mouth — I like the idea of trying this with you as a Headmistress/naughty girl thing. I’ll need you to let me know in the morning if ever we’re going to do something like this so that I can make sure I’m clean/prepared._

Lena swallowed and in the privacy of her own office, inhaling deep breaths, blinking and shaken, she became a woman caught in her own memories and confliction. 

She had been punished with enemas, saw them as a necessary evil at the time, and lived most of her life feeling a sense of disconnected comfort about what had happened. Madame Archambault had done those things because she cared and wanted Lena to become better, that was the lie Lena had lived with her entire life, one that she had truly believed. Then she went to France, the history of who she was had come crashing down around her, and Lena did not feel disconnected comfort about it any of it anymore. She felt rage. She felt disgust. She felt like a teenage girl who had her dignity stripped with no way to ever right that wrong or mend that pain.

Lena craved to not feel shame or disgust anymore, and while the thought of implementing such a punishment was terrifying, she wondered on some level if it might be a way to uncolour the memory of what had once been — not forget it, not forgive it, simply remove some of the significance it held over her.

Lena picked up her phone and thumbed through her contacts, clicking on a number she had now grown more frequent at calling.

“Hello?” Kara answered, half-asleep and bleary.

“Are you asleep?” Lena looked at the clock. “It’s eight in the morning. School starts in forty-five minutes.”

“Are you calling as Miss Luthor or Headmistress? If you’re calling as my boss, it’s my morning off to do my research assignment. If you’re calling as Headmistress, I would very, very, very politely remind you that it’s my morning off to do my research assignment.”

“Note taken,” Lena laughed slightly. “I’m. I’m calling on unofficial Headmistress business.”

“Then what can I do for you, Ma’am?”

“I’m reading your list. I need to talk to you about something…”

“If there is anything on there that is triggering for you then we can cross it out. I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t feel good for you.”

“No, I know that. Punishment enemas caught my attention.” Lena halted and cleared her throat, determined to be articulate and unemotional about the subject. “That’s something that represents quite a bit of trauma for me, and is also simultaneously arousing when I think about doing it to you. It’s a confliction I wish to clarify for myself. I think I would like to try it, how do we proceed given all of that?”

“Well,” Kara paused and thought. “We’ll use colours. Red if either of us want to immediately stop, yellow if we just need to check in and speak frankly, and afterwards we can have a conversation about what we liked and whether there was anything we didn’t like.”

Lena nodded dumbly into the receiver, her fears somewhat assuaged. “That sounds more sensible than I believe I have ever given you credit for, Miss Danvers,” she said.

“Well, I’m full of surprises.”

“Is there anything else I should prepare for tonight?”

“Yes. I would like you to punish or reward me as you see fit, _fuck me_ as you see fit, trust yourself and your judgement, and know that if I want something to stop then I will say the word red.” Kara paused, and Lena felt as though she could almost hear the little grin on the other end of the phone. “But I’m not going to say red because I like and find value in everything we do together,” Kara dropped her tone to a reassuring whisper.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Danvers, you have been a great help to me.” Lena felt a torrent between her legs, coughing and clearing her throat in some small attempt to reclaim herself.

“Of course, Headmistress. Will you do something for me though?”

“Name it.”

“Send the wax sealed note, please.” Kara exhaled with throaty, tight murmur. “It makes me feel naughty when you do that.”

Lena got the instant suspicion her little troublemaker was masturbating.

“Miss Danvers,” Lena whispered, her voice mirthless and full of authority. “The wax seal is cooling as we very speak. I’ll be sending it to you shortly.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Kara husked.

“And Miss Danvers?”

“Yes Headmistress.”

“If you even think about cumming I will beat the brakes off of you.”

“Understood Headmistress.” Lena heard a tiny disappointed sigh, and then a zipper being drew back up. “I’ll be your good girl, I promise.”

***

Kara had worried, selfishly, that tonight would be different as though something had irreparably shattered between them. She had seen the full picture of Miss Luthor’s life, whole, complete, terrible and complex at the best of times. It made her worry that knowing that truth was incompatible with giving over her submission wholly.

Miss Luthor was no longer a caricature of primness and authority, she was a linear series of compounded life experiences plus eleven tacos that she once ate for lunch when she was twenty-three. That part still made Kara laugh, and to laugh felt antithetical to who and what their relationship to one another was. Kara worried that Miss Luthor would open the door, and Kara would see Lena standing where the Headmistress was supposed to be instead. 

Lena was wonderful, stunning, interesting and complex, but she was not the woman that Kara wanted to shamefully lift her plaid skirt for and do all manner of other humiliating things. Those spoils, they belonged to a different woman entirely.

It took no more than thirty-seconds for Kara to understand her fears were baseless and unnecessary.

“Miss Danvers—” An assertive hand glided along her spine, pensive and restrained as though she were a forbidden thing to be touched and yet the shape of her body still had to be felt, remembered, understood. “It feels like it’s been a thousand years since you’ve stood in this office to discuss the matter of bettering yourself, I remain unsure whether that’s a testament to your improved behaviour or my tutelage.” Miss Luthor came undone instantly and walked to her desk.

She was stunning. Not beautiful, not pretty, not some vague descriptor that was supposed to somehow sum up the grace she walked with, the poise she held, the stern and loving look in her emerald eyes whenever they caught the little troublemaker in their crosshair. Miss Luthor was utterly, profoundly, _unfathomably_ stunning. Kara blinked and couldn’t understand it, how she was capable of being so many people, how she was capable of such profound complexity, but that was not a question to which she felt there could ever be a clear answer. 

Miss Luthor was who she was, without need for examination or deconstruction. Kara simply felt grateful to be back in her presence. She had missed this, she had felt guilty for missing this, and she decided to simply not feel guilty anymore.

“Perhaps it’s both, Headmistress,” Kara whispered and clasped her hands in front of herself, her brain devolving into the safest layers of subspace she felt could be accessed. “Pleasing you, working hard for you, it’s not a game to me, Ma’am.”

“It would be a foolish game if ever that was your intention, Miss Danvers,” Miss Luthor responded instantly, beckoning her with a flick of the finger to sit in the chair opposite. “Your research assignment, did you complete it?”

“Yes Headmistress,” Kara nodded eagerly and sat herself down. “I researched lots of different career pathways, I found some very interesting ones that I think I would be good at.”

“Do tell?” Miss Luthor lifted her shaped brow and leaned in with some sense of intrigue.

“An executive personal assistant, a secretary, maybe a forensic administrator for law enforcement.” Kara sat up a little taller. “I have the qualifications for it, and I think I have an excellent eye for details. I’m very service orientated and—”

“Are you naming careers that you want or careers you think you have a satisfactory skillset for?”

Kara paused and realised the answer. “The latter, Headmistress.” She closed her eyes.

“If you think I will entertain the idea of you wasting your potential...” Miss Luthor glared, most displeased. “Those are perfectly respectable jobs. Those are vocations that are necessary and to be respected. They are, however, beneath your sights and my expectations for your future.”

“What about teaching?” Kara said instantly, her eyes peering up to gauge the response. “Do you… do you think I could make a good teacher, Ma’am?”

Miss Luthor laughed slightly and rolled her eyes, amused. She stood from her desk, prowling around, high heels clicking, smoothing her pencil skirt as she walked behind Kara’s sitting figure. The Headmistress leaned down and breathed against the back of her ear, hesitating for a moment with an entire rapture on the edge of her tongue, Kara had no doubts.

“I think you could be excellent at a great many things, my girl,” Miss Luthor exhaled. “Teaching is not a vocation you fall into, Miss Danvers. It is a decision you make every single day to be the dependable thing a child can count on. You have one hour a day in which you must be an educator, a guardian, an exemplary role model, an adult they can depend on, someone who will protect them and push them towards greatness no matter the situations they comes from, and trust me, very few children come from perfect environments.” Miss Luthor came back around and leaned against the edge of her desk, her expression devoid of emotion and yet palpably serious.

“That sounds harder then I think I have ever given teachers credit for,” Kara admitted quietly.

“Teaching, nursing, social work, it is difficult and often thankless and requires a certain amount of personal conviction, yes.” Miss Luthor hummed in thought. “You tell me, Miss Danvers, do you think you would be an outstanding teacher?”

“Yes,” Kara said a bit too quickly.

“Troublesome. I have met so very few excellent teachers who proclaim themselves to be excellent teachers.” Miss Luthor smirked unforgivingly. “There’s a certain amount of arrogance about you sometimes, do you know that?”

“I’m not blind to it, Headmistress.”

“I asked you to research careers and post-graduate avenues that sounded interesting, Miss Danvers, not careers you meet the basic standards for. Do you think I’m incapable of doing that myself? Do you think I couldn’t have supplied you with a list of jobs you simply had the right qualifications for and told you to pick one at random?” Miss Luthor’s voice became a hiss.

“I’m sorry,” Kara exhaled and didn’t know where to look. “I just. Well. I don’t know what it is I want yet, Headmistress. I haven’t figured out what I want for my future—”

“You so rarely seem to know what it is that you want beyond the filthy things that provide you with some sense of sexual titillation, Miss Danvers, perhaps we must start with consequences that you most definitely _do not_ want in order to imbue you with a little motivation.” The Headmistress instantly scruffed her by the back of the neck.

There was a restroom inside of Miss Luthor’s office. Kara had used it once before, sat there and gleaned in the tiny old-fashioned bathroom and imagined all kinds of depraved things that made her wet with lust and want. She now found herself inside it once again, a fist wound tight in her blonde hair, a Headmistress glowering down over her with disappointed emerald eyes and a frightfully tight lipped expression. 

Kara felt her cunt melt instantly, her eyes snapped wide and her throat clenching hard on itself. This was happening. This was happening and she was utterly enthralled by the fantasy of it.

“Do you remember your words,” Miss Luthor exhaled against the back of her ear with a tone that gave away nothing.

“Green, Headmistress,” Kara almost grunted, her thighs twisting together in excitement as Miss Luthor tugged the back of her hair and made her throat taut, her stare looming down and piercing the little troublemaker’s soul. “Green, green, green, _oh god_ _green_ ,” Kara cried up at her.

The Headmistress shoved her over the edge of the bath so fast and hard that her feet came up off the ground and accidentally kicked Miss Luthor in the hips. It fuelled them, as though they were wrestling, wrangling one another, and yet Kara couldn’t think of a single place she would rather be.

“Green,” Kara gasped as her white cotton panties were ripped down her legs with one violent tug. “Green, Headmistress.”

“Arrogance consumes you my darling girl,” Miss Luthor growled against the back of her ear, palms pressing and spreading Kara’s shoulderblades into the bottom of the porcelain bath. “I imagine you will feel far more humble and humiliated by the time I am done with you. Perhaps you might think of some possibilities for next year that you find far more appealing than suffering another twelve-months under my scrutiny.” Kara closed her eyes and felt a fistful of her skirt push up her spine.

“Headmistress I’m sorry,” Kara whispered, her voice tight and her cunt throbbing. “I’ll redo my research assignment, Ma’am.”

“Oh, you most certainly will. You’re going to write me an essay on every career or possible avenue that you discover, explaining what you find interesting about it, the necessary steps towards entry, where you imagine it might take you in the future, and you will present that to me _every_ Friday evening without fail. Am I quite clear?” The Headmistress growled.

“Crystal, Ma’am.” Kara wept and grinded her bottom backwards into Miss Luthor’s hips for purchase. “Oh god please, green, green, green—”

“An eager little thing,” Miss Luthor interrupted. “I think I’m rather enjoying this new protocol we’ve implemented, Miss Danvers, but if you think I’ll be filling you up in any pleasurable sense of the word just yet… you are woefully mistaken.” Kara heard a faucet turn and gush.

“Headmistress?” Kara whispered.

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“If I’m…” Kara stopped and closed her eyes, unable to imagine something so erotic. “I’m a good girl can I touch you too tonight?”

There was a long pause, filled with nothing but the sounds of Miss Luthor’s pensive breaths. Kara feared the worst, but then the Headmistress cleared her throat and seemed to come back to reality.

“I think I would like that indeed, Miss Danvers.”

[READ AHEAD AND FIND EXCLUSIVE STORIES HERE.](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

The reverence was whole. The nervousness non-existent. Miss Luthor laid sprawled on the emerald chesterfield sofa, a blanket tangled around her body to cover what she felt needed to be covered, her green eyes slitted and tongue faintly clucking, and while the little thief between her legs stole her all at once like a midnight smash-and-grab, her lips re-learned the shape of a smile.

When Kara touched her there, found the right spot, lavished it with the attention of her enthusiastic tongue and gentle mouth, the headmistress made the kind of fragile moan that seemed to pile up and lift any reservation that remained. They were not creatures of order or intention in this moment, they were sweating and free, giggling because it felt right, eyeing each other cautiously just in case it wasn’t.

“Does it feel good, Miss Luthor?” Kara purred, dipping back down between glistening folds to hide her grin.

“It feels wonderful,” Miss Luthor throatily whispered and reached down with her shaky hand to lift Kara’s chin. “Never hide from me when you’re smiling, it looks so _beautiful_ on you—” Green eyes snapped wide and her lungs suddenly forgot how to be lungs.

Kara had started using her fingers too, gentle, slow, expertly. Lena felt as though she couldn’t breathe. It had been… too long. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been touched like this, the last time she had ever allowed herself to exist as a byproduct of somebody else’s purpose and intention. Lena swallowed and realised all of a sudden that she didn’t feel scared, and that was entirely new and wonderful.

In this moment, she was both mighty and fragile, an authority and an on-looker, a woman on the brink of her steely edge and unafraid of the vulnerability. Her girl held her tight, a little nose digging into her mound, a tongue swirling and dancing hungrily, and Lena felt as though she were on the edge of becoming a new woman who had been hidden within herself for too long. 

A woman freed.

“I’m—” Lena blinked and hesitated, completely in disbelief. “Oh my god, I think. I think I’m…”

“You’re going to cum.” Kara pushed deeper between her folds, kissing and worshipping as though it were the only thing she knew how to do with any proficiency. “You’re going to feel good, and take everything you need from me, and orgasm until you feel breathless. You are a queen, and you deserve everything and more Ma’am...”

The fact that she had never climaxed was both a secret she didn’t share and something she simultaneously did not feel shame about it. Lena had come close, in private moments where she was alone and without a single responsibility. Her fingers would slip down between her legs, pressing, circling, pressing gently, pressing hard, building herself up, indulging her body, and then like a fog lifting off the meadow she would come back to herself with frightful clarity. 

The arousal would slip away, her tightened muscles would soften, and she had long since become okay with simply falling asleep afterwards. Sex was pleasurable but she was not somebody who knew how to release control, and so she accepted that orgasms were not her spoils, to chase after them felt like a waste of emotional energy. Then Kara touched her there, kissed her just right, flicked her tongue but not too hard, lavished the right spot, and before Lena even realised she was tumbling over the edge, Kara had added a layer of complexity to these rules with frightening immediacy.

Lena bucked and felt a click deep inside, a rushing sensation, an explosion in her body that devoured her in glittering light and wave after wave of pleasure, muscles contracting, breathless and whimpering, she tightened her fingers in Kara’s long blonde hair and melted bonelessly, belly twitching and legs shaking, unravelled and held together in soft palms that held her to the leather sofa as though she were a queen to be worshipped.

“Good girl,” Lena choked out the words, stern emerald eyes fluttering without focus, her breath barely catching up with itself. “That was… that was wonderful,” she whispered, awestruck and gasping.

“That’s my line, Miss Luthor,” Kara teased and crawled up her warm slack body, a kiss against her belly, one over her ribs, on top of her breast, then three chaste little pecks to her taut slender jaw. “Thank you for the privilege, I have wanted to do that for so, so long.” She slumped and pressed her cheek to Lena’s collarbone.

“How… how was tonight for you?” Lena whispered out of nowhere. “I… I gave you what you needed, correct?”

“Something’s changed in your voice.” Kara detected the wavering tone, the emotion, but two delicate arms slipped around and held her tight before she could pull away to look up. “Okay, it’s okay,” she reassured, rubbing the soft pale belly beneath her. “Would you like me to call you by your first name now?”

“Please.” Lena inhaled a sharp hard breath, teeth tracing over the edges of one another. “Just Lena—” She cleared her throat uncomfortably, aware that her cheeks were suddenly wet. “Lena, that’s what I want to be called right now. I’m sorry. I know… I know we said we wouldn’t blur the lines but—”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s all okay,” Kara promised. “Lena is growing on me, don’t sweat it.’

“Was tonight good for you?” There was a sense of fear about her that couldn’t be hidden away, and it didn’t go undetected.

“Lena tonight was perfect for me, you gave me everything I needed,” Kara hushed slightly, her cheek sensing the rocking and trembling of her headmistress’s throat. “Did we do something you didn’t like?”

“No,” Lena said, tearful and unable to wrangle it back. “Quite the opposite.”

“Then why are you—”

“Please don’t say it. I’m, I’m not used to this and I’m trying very hard not to… _do that._ ” She could not bring herself to admit the obvious, that she was crying, but Lena sounded calmer and more reclaimed — albeit palpably uncomfortable. “I’m fine. We’re fine. This was a nice night, wasn’t it?” she sighed.

Kara closed her eyes. She knew the thing she had to do could easily backfire in her face and spoil the intimacy, the closeness, the faint sense of familiarity that was blossoming between them. Lena was a woman of seldom words, Kara knew that, and though she respected it, she could not abide it this time. Agreements had been made in the cold long night, promises in the tiny moments where they were human, fragile and laid bare before one another, and she felt some intention towards honouring that.

“There is something you’re not telling me and we made promises to one another not to do that.” Kara shifted slightly, convinced it was her own doing. “If I did something wrong… if the stuff earlier was triggering… you have to tell me so we can talk about—”

“I’ve never climaxed before,” Lena blurted.

Kara furrowed her brows. “You mean…”

“Never,” Lena confirmed. “I, erm. I thought that was something my body can’t do and now I know that it can and so tonight was a nice night. You didn’t do anything wrong, you did something incredibly right. I just… don’t want to be treated differently.”

“Okay,” Kara said plainly and felt the warm body beneath her soften slightly, relaxing on a moment to moment basis. “That’s good, that’s… that’s wonderful. I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself, Lena.” She snuggled slightly and didn’t know the roadmap for this, how to be politely reserved and affectionate all at once, but she felt some determination to try.

“You can get dressed if you want,” Lena said half-heartedly. “You can go if you want to.”

“Not on your life.” Kara burrowed her nose into a gleaming spot of sweating skin that smelled of her perfume. “I know your home is off-limits, we agreed, but your office however… it’s neutral territory. This sofa is common ground. It’s Switzerland.”

“Is that so?”

“We’re going to have bad backs in the morning.” Kara chuckled, Lena did too. “But yes, I think so. I’m not leaving you tonight, if you don’t like it then you’ll just have to walk away from all of this in the morning.”

“You wouldn’t survive it if I did.”

“I’m still not leaving.” Kara refused to apologise for her feelings, not even the faintest insinuation of pending regret. “Tomorrow is your choice, tonight I’ve made mine. If you walk away, you better not turn back because I’m still going to be right here.”

“A lioness, Miss Danvers.” Lena faintly laughed at the memory. “Well, nobody can say you didn’t warn me…”

***

One moment it was Tuesday, the next Friday evening was already nipping at Kara’s heels. The week had been interesting and intimate. Something was changing between them, Kara could feel it, and yet it felt so faint that she dare not ask for clarification. 

Before, when Miss Luthor saw her in the corridor or brushed past her on the stairs there was threateningly prim air of authority about her, and Kara did well to avert her eyes to floor and allow the deity to pass her with all the deference and respect she was owed and due. 

Kara had bumped into Miss Luthor—specifically _Miss Luthor_ because they were in work mode and such distinctions were now necessary—twice this week and something entirely different had happened to the usual. On Monday Miss Luthor had silently stole a chaste kiss against her cheek as they passed like lone ships through the English Department. Then on Wednesday, Miss Luthor clutched her hand for the briefest of moments and softly drew her fingers as they parted in opposite directions down the hall after the staff meeting.

The affection was tame, was nothing compared to the ferocious intensity they approached one another with behind closed doors, and yet it was something Kara could not make sense of. It was a conundrum, but not an unpleasant one.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket two hours before their session.

“Hello?” Kara answered.

“It is… some combination of Miss Luthor and the Headmistress calling,” Miss Luthor forewarned. “I just want to check you have your career presentation prepared for later. I would like for tonight to be an evening of reward, though I will not reward anything less than impeccable dedication to your set assignment.”

“I had it finished first thing Monday,” Kara promised and glanced at herself in the mirror, unsure of what to wear tonight. “Headmistress, can I ask you a question?”

“Politely, yes.”

“What is your favourite colour, Ma’am?”

“Scarlet red.”

“I don’t have underwear in scarlet red, what is your second favourite colour?” Kara heard a long pause, and she thought the phone might have gone dead. “Hello?”

“Would it be incredibly perverse if I asked you to wear the plaid skirt and knee high socks again, Miss Danvers?” Miss Luthor had a throaty, aroused heaviness to her manacled tone.

“Yes Miss Luthor I think it would be very perverse,” Kara purled with a sultry whisper. “And you know how much I love it when you’re perverse…”

“I really want to be able to reward you tonight, do not spoil yourself little girl.”

“Oh Headmistress,” Kara exhaled and closed her eyes, wet and enthralled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“See you at the usual time?”

“Yes Miss Luthor, before you go…” Kara bit her bottom lip and didn’t know how to word it. “Can I speak with Lena?”

There was another long pause.

“Sure, go ahead,” Miss Luthor transformed into a much lighter, human tone.

“Do you want to hang out afterwards tonight and try the sleepover again?” Kara asked hopefully.

“I would like that.”

“Then I’ll see you later, plaid skirt and accoutrements in tow.” Kara smiled and put down her phone.

[If you want to check out the six guinea pigs I’m training to perform divination then find out more HERE.](Http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

Kara knocked three times and waited outside of the Headmistress’s office with a sense of excited nervousness.

It was a strange juxtaposition, juggling all of their contextual relationships, but it was a process that Kara felt unresentful about. In this moment, Kara was not required to think much less juggle or compartmentalise — Miss Luthor exerted a sense of order and control just with the faintest imposition of her presence.

It was their routine Friday night appointment, Kara had completed her required tasks, she was wearing her prettiest knee high socks and skirt, and all she had to do now was exhale her worries on the sound of her headmistress’s heels clicking towards the door.

“Inside, Miss Danvers.” The headmistress casted a long manicured finger towards the chair opposite her desk. “I hope your assignment is worth my prolonged attention this week. I do fear that I might have to make good on my promise and put you back in chastity if I should find anything amiss...”

“You won’t find anything sloppy this time, Headmistress,” Kara muttered, blushing and enthralled. “But that isn’t to say you can’t put me in chastity anyway, I like feeling close to you.” She grins and wants to peck Lena’s cheek, but she doesn’t.

“I know you like feeling close to me,” Miss Luthor smiled on the words. “I like feeling close to you too, my dearest.” She followed Kara towards their designated seats.

“Headmistress,” Kara cleared her throat nervously. “I think… I think this might be it.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be far more specific than that.”

“The assignment.” Kara took it from her satchel and pushed it across her mahogany desk. “I found the thing I want to do, I’m certain of it this time. After our last meeting I did some research and well… this is what I’m going to do. After I leave here in a few months, of course.” She waited on baited-breath, unable to decipher her headmistress’s indiscernible expression.

Miss Luthor hesitated, and then she pushed a warm, slightly solemn smile up her perfect rosy cheeks.

“How pleased I am to hear that you’re finally taking yourself as seriously as I do, Miss Danvers.” Miss Luthor sat down at her desk and flicked open the first page. “While I mark this,” she said, glancing back up at the blushing girl opposite. “Make yourself useful and spit shine this with that pretty little wicked tongue of yours.” She grabbed a strap-on from the drawer and offered it forward.

“Yes Ma’am,” Kara tried desperately to dampen her giddy grin.

***

In her bones, Lena knew this would be the last time they played these games. Or, on these terms at least. Kara sprawled out over her desk, her plaid skirt in bunches over her hips, in desperate need of her Headmistress’s authority and tutelage because she greatly lacked the guidance necessary to hone all of her incredible accomplishments. Lena, she had finally fulfilled her purpose and intention.

Kara had figured out her answers, or at least a single important one about what her future would entail. She was going to be a teacher, not because Lena willed it so, or because it was a profession to simply fall into, but because she wanted to dedicate herself to enriching the lives of her pupils — teaching them, guiding them, but most of all protecting them. Kara had wrote that part very specifically, that she felt called to the duty of being a safe, reliable adult in the lives of her students.

Lena… Lena couldn’t help but feel that was somewhat of a tribute, or rather a reassurance, towards her and the unfurling history of her past that she had entrusted Kara with over this last year.

A lion prowling through her corridors, indeed.

“Headmistress,” Kara whispered out the name, her hand reaching backwards towards the sturdy safe shape of her lover. “I know you said you wanted to reward me but…”

The unnatural pause makes Lena lift a stern brow.

“Don’t stop yourself now, girl,” she chides.

“Please spank me?” Kara murmurs, her spine rising and falling with the ardour of her breath. “Please, please, please make my bottom sore?”

“Well nobody can question your impeccable manners my girl.” Lena pushed a soft, loving smile. “Go and get the implements you would like. Considering this isn’t a punishment in any traditional sense of the word… perhaps you should choose?”

Kara turns at that, her blue eyes glimmering with excitement. She looked like a girl in a candy shop all of a sudden. It made a new feeling wash over Lena, or rather a realisation that...

_This was fun._

It sat as stark and strange, the thought of corporal punishment being something that wasn’t based in punishment or attitude management but rather a sexual exchange in and of itself for the sake of sexual exchange alone. Her striking Kara because it aroused her; Kara offering herself up to be striked simply because it aroused her too.

“I can choose whatever I want, Headmistress?” Kara bit her plump bottom lip.

“So long as we have no repeat performances of the night you wound up in the bath the hard way around…” Lena jokes, and it feels so strange to use her normal voice while they’re in the middle of these things, but it feels the most natural and right. “Hurry up, go and choose.” She reclaims a calm sense of sternness.

“Yes Ma’am,” Kara is already off and exploring.

As the moment drew into a boiling silence, Lena sighed out the held breath in her lungs and tried to adjust: adjusting to the distinct change in tone between them, adjusting to her new feelings, adjusting to the idea that maybe… they could exist outside of intention and purpose. She swallowed hard and reclaimed herself when the teaching assistant returned with almost full cradled arms, and the sight made her burst into an abrupt laugh that had to be coughed away and covered inartfully.

“What?” Kara giggled too.

“Just,” Lena pauses, waving it off. “I didn’t think my entire cabinet could fit in one pretty little girl’s arms and yet… here we are.” She gestures at the juggler.

“Not all of them, I just wanted to bring you a selection.”

“A selection indeed.”

“Can we play with the tawse?” Kara offers it forward into her Headmistress’s hands with some sense of intrigue in her expression. “I… I want big bruises and the chastity belt when I go to sleep tonight, please. I like feeling you over me.” She grins.

“If you’re a good girl, maybe you can feel me in you as well as over you.” It makes Kara blush and remember, all of a sudden, all at once, out of nowhere almost, that this was a night of reward and fucking was absolutely on the table.

“Or we could skip to that part?” Kara swallows.

“Not on your life.” Lena flexes the hard leather tawse, then smacks it down on the desk with a thunderous boom that has her girl reeling. “Head down, bottom up, you are going to get exactly what you asked for my girl. An abundance of it, my love.”

***

Twenty strikes and her girl was sobbing, depleted, bruised and repentant for crimes she had not committed but wanted to be punished for regardless. Kara’s fingers were tight on the edge of the desk, her propped knees quaking almost. Her pretty puffy cunt glistened, her little folds so flush and begging to be fucked.

“What a good, good girl.” Lena trailed fingers along her shoulderblades and followed the length of her spine. “You’re such a tough little thing, aren’t you?”

“No Headmistress,” Kara whimpered and rocked. “I’m weak, and I’m fragile, but I just feel safe giving those parts of myself to you.”

“Good,” Lena says instantly. “Because I will never crush them, and I will always endeavour to lift you to your full potential and show you just how incredibly resilient you are.”

“Me too,” Kara whispers, and it takes Lena off-keel. “If we’re talking about purpose and intention, then that’s mine — to show you just how much strength and love you have in your heart, Headmistress.”

Lena doesn’t reply, because she can’t, because the words just won’t come. She feels her throat rock, her body resisting the idea of being approached with such earnest intention, but she nods despite herself. She nods, despite the fact that Kara cannot see it.

“Please fuck me, Miss Luthor.” Kara drops her chest a little deeper to the wood and shows her Headmistress what a mess she’s made between her legs. “I want to feel you inside of me, so, so, so desperately.”

***

In the aftermath of the orgasms, of the kisses, of the space between words were emotions were palpable and undeniable, the change in tone was distinct and felt.

Almost imperceptibly, Lena couldn’t help but be softer and more gentle in her ministrations. She scooped Kara into her arms, holding her and nuzzling into her neck while she leaned backwards into her chair. It was improper for the nature of their relationship but Lena couldn’t stop herself, and she had now finally given up believing that she could even if she wanted to.

“Why do I feel so happy and so sad all at once, Headmistress?” Kara murmured with a solemn tone as she hung off Lena’s shoulders, almost.

“Oh endings are always sad,” Lena whispered and explained it away. “Even when they’re happy, even when the characters are left much better off than where we found them, it’s always sad to say goodbye, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Kara’s voice grew tight.

“Me neither,” Lena somehow maintained some semblance of control over her voice. “But,” she whispered and craned her neck, meeting those big blue eyes. “I believe to not say goodbye now in earnest intent would be a great misdeed on my part. Selfish, even.”

“I understand.” Kara nodded despite her rocking throat, nodded because she too knew it was right. “Do you think…” She paused and inhaled. “Do you think just for tonight we could have the things we want?”

“Oh if we were to have the things I want then I would have to keep you for far, far longer than a night, my dear.”

“I would be okay with that too.”

“I know, I know you would.” Lena was warming to the idea too, and that was a terrifying realisation to have. “But I’ve lead you to your big realisation now. I have served my purpose by elevating you to your own, and I cannot be a distraction to that despite how desperately I would like to. Do you—” Lena stalled and realised she was crying. “Do you understand?”

Mercifully, Kara just nodded and placed no guilt or burden on these things.

“I understand,” Kara almost lurched as she wrapped her in a hug so tight that it nearly squeezed the air from Lena’s lungs. “Thank you, for everything, for showing me what I am capable of, for showing me things about myself I never knew. I will _always_ love you the most, Lena,” she said it so fiercely.

Lena slipped her hands up the crybaby’s spine and kept her just so.

“Thank you for using the right name,” she whispered.

[ENDING UP NOW, CHECK IT OUT WITH MY OTHER STUFF AHEAD OF THE CURVE HERE!](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


	9. Ending

_ONE YEAR LATER._

They walked away from one another as better women than they had been in the beginning. They had walked away in good conscience, with love in their hearts, never turning around, never looking back. Lena moved forward through the world a little more whole because of what they had shared together. It was the ending that Lena had envisioned for both them from the very beginning.

It was a happy ending, Lena rationally understood that.

And yet…

It hurt so deeply, still.

Twelve months had passed since Kara’s leaving. On her worst days, Lena still tempted the idea of picking up the phone, inviting her for coffee maybe, drawing her back into the web, if only because she desperately missed Kara on the most gut-aching terms that she did not think herself capable of.

It would be wrong to do that, Lena did not tempt the idea. Despite the broken heart, despite the craving for more, she stood tall in the mirror every morning and resisted the urge if only by the skin of her teeth — busying herself with work, or some semblance of it at least.

Truth be told, Lena felt untethered, unanchored, as though she had lost her purpose and air of intention. Put simply, the headmistress did not know what she wanted for herself anymore. She didn’t feel like a headmistress at all these days, an educator, a person ingrained with calling, just a woman faintly playing the part of one.

Lena just knew that whatever it was she wanted, it seemed to involve Kara Danvers. The one thing she could not allow herself to pursue. No, she would not undo Kara’s potential. She would not trap Kara as she herself had been trapped. She would not be the thing that stood in front of her most precocious little pupil’s big ambitions.

Not for all the heartbreak in the world.

***

The large matter of the police enquiry against Archambault was made all the more traumatic and difficult by the slow, constant passage of time without news of charges or prosecution being brought against her abuser.

Lena would regularly call the detective responsible for her case for updates. The trouble was, nearly some eighteen months after she reported the crimes, there was still such little in way of _update_ to be given or received.

There was often no detective to be spoken to directly either, and she would be passed from pillar to post, always promised a callback that so rarely ever came. It left her in a state of flux, it left her angry, and bitter, and stuck in the horrific feelings of helplessness she had so desperately ran from as a tearaway teenager.

“Progress is slow,” the support worker attached to the case always promised. “There is a lot of investigative work we’re doing into this matter but... you are the only person who has made an accusation against your alleged—”

“My attacker.” Lena held back the urge to explode, focusing on the pens in front of her on the desk, fiddling with them obsessively in order to stay calm. “It’s not alleged, it’s not accused, it was real and it happened. I was fifteen years old when the grooming began. I was a child in her charge. I do not understand why she isn’t _languishing_ in a prison cell right now.”

“Well what I can tell you is that on the basis of the report you made she was suspended from her teaching role pending this investigation. As slow as this process may seem, she is not in a position to hurt any other girls in her charge while we look into this matter, Miss Luthor.”

“What about me!” Lena finally burst. “She hurt _me_. I am sorry if that sounds selfish, if I sound as though I am being unreasonable, but her crimes have already been committed. They were committed against _me_.” It made her chest hurt. “I live with them, they are as real today as they were eighteen years ago for _me_.”

“Justice always prevails in the end, Miss Luthor,” the support worker promised after a moment, aware and doing her best to calm and soothe. “It might seem slow but we’re going to get there, I promise you.”

“No,” Lena scoffed. “That’s just a lie we tell ourselves so we don’t have to deal with the implication of the contrary.” She hung up the phone, barely resisting the urge to throw it as hard as she could across the office.

***

Kara sat opposite her new headteacher, Mr Smith, and didn’t know what to say to the question that had been put to her.

“...Of course, we’re not _usually_ in a position to offer such contracts to prospective teachers who have done their placement year with us.” Mr Smith smiled at the silence, certain that it was shock. “But, your education background is remarkable, your references are _shining_ , and the English department made it quite clear that you were their first choice to join the faculty in September. The work won’t be easy, but the progression opportunities are—”

“I’m sorry but I’m afraid I can’t accept, Mr Smith,” Kara blurted without thinking.

It was too soon to be committing herself to a career, Kara thought. It was jumping the gun too quickly. There were still things she wanted to do, things that she needed to do, though she couldn’t put her finger precisely on them.

“Miss Danvers,” Mr Smith blinked, surprised. “Are you sure you don’t want to take some time to think about it? Opportunities to work at institutions such as this one do not come like buses.” He made it perfectly clear.

“There’s just…” Kara hesitated, because more than anything in the world she wanted to pause this conversation and speak to her master of the universe, Miss Luthor. “I’m sorry, I just, I—” She came undone. “I need to take a gap-year, before I enter the job market.”

“Oh.” His voice became disappointed.

“Thank you, for everything, _really_.” Kara nodded and got up from her seat.

She wanted to call the one woman she was not allowed to call, that was what struck Kara when she hurried down the corridor. Kara wanted to curl up in bed and hear that voice, telling her to stop being an idiot, to stop doubting herself, to pursue this opportunity and forget everything else.

But she couldn’t forget everything else.

Kara had been following the news, or substantial lack thereof.

Kara knew the state of things despite the twelve months of silence.

***

Lena had been keeping tabs, somewhat.

She shouldn’t, and she knew that, but it was for no reason beyond making sure her girl was doing just fine without being overt or unyielding about such nosiness. The updates were a good thing to look forward to every now and then, a silver-lining she so often desperately needed these days.

Kara had finally completed her teacher training placement, the shining recommendation Lena had wrote only carried her girl so far, it was Kara’s hard work that earned her the prestigious job offer at the private school she had been placed for her training year — a well-paying, _highly-regarded_ employer too.

A better start than Lena herself had when she first pursued teaching.

Lena knew the headmaster well, an old friend she taught with on the same faculty at one point in time, though it certainly earned Kara no favours — Lena made sure of that. When he confirmed that the job offer had been politely declined in lieu of yet another gap year, much to his own shock and surprise too, it felt as though the bottom had dropped out of Lena’s entire world.

In sixteen months, it was the closest Lena came to dialling the number still saved in her personal phone. Her thumb hovered over Kara’s contact information, her entire body shaking with outrage and disappointment, but then with a burning tightness in her throat she did something else.

Lena deleted the number.

She felt as though she had been played for a fool. She felt as though she had not been met with the intention and deliberateness she had so carefully approached Kara with. It felt as though she had been peddled a bare-face lie. A year of separation was all it took to make her girl come undone at the seams and Lena…

She would not make the mistake of trying to put her back together again.

Not when she was coming undone at the seams too.

***

In Kara’s mind as the plane landed in a country she didn’t know, on the cusp of a journey she couldn’t be sure of, she could only imagine the scathing reprimand she would receive if Headmistress knew she had turned down that job-offer.

Miss Luthor would be disappointed.

Lena would try to understand, but the despondency would be palpable too.

Kara could compartmentalise and picture each reception to the news perfectly depending on which version of her favourite person she was dealing with in the moment.

The trouble was, Kara had something she needed to do in order to be the teacher she wanted to be, the teacher she _demanded_ herself to one day be. She had promised Miss Luthor that she had chosen teaching for sincere and earnest reasons: because she wanted to dedicate herself to enriching the lives of her pupils — guiding them, but most of all protecting them, and doing the right thing despite how difficult that challenge might one day be.

In order to do that, she had to do this first.

Kara disembarked the plane with a sense of purpose and intention, however long it took her, no matter how hard the challenge ahead was, she felt that she _needed_ to do this. If her long and extensive years of education had taught her anything, it was the art of research and fact-gathering.

Kara had still been paying close attention to the news, and the lack of news altogether made her feel as though this was some small tangible way she could repay a kindness that had once been so generous given to her.

She had to _try_.

***

“Miss Luthor?” The school secretary stuck her head around the meeting room door. “I apologise for interrupting, there’s a very urgent phone call from someone I think you will want to speak to — they were very insistent that I get you right away.”

“Please, if you’ll pardon me for a moment,” Lena excused herself from the faculty meeting without urgency.

In her mind, she privately hoped it was Kara Danvers.

Three months had passed since she blocked and deleted her number from her personal phone, and though it felt insidious, she couldn’t help but wish that Kara had learned this fact the hard way around and was now trying every other means possible to reach out in search of help and guidance.

Lena didn’t know whether she wanted Kara to reach out because she still loved her, or because she still wanted to be useful to her in the ways she knew best. All she knew was that the moment she closed her office door and privately took the phone call, she felt a swell of disappointment when she heard a voice that did not belong to her girl.

“Miss Luthor?”

“Speaking,” Lena swallowed the dismay.

“I have good news,” the police detective said. “Two more women have came forward with similar allegations—”

“Accounts,” Lena instantly corrected, but then the implication suddenly hit her out of nowhere and left her reeling and stiff. “Wait, did you just say two other women have come forward?” She leaned and tightened her grip on the phone.

“I’m afraid I can’t go into too much detail right now but what I can tell you is that you are not the only one, Miss Luthor. I have two reports sitting in front of me, one from someone who attended the school around the same time you did, another from someone who was a pupil twenty years prior. The French police have enough to charge her with now, Miss Luthor.”

“That’s… that’s good news.” Lena blinked away painful tears. “Thank you for calling me.”

It wasn’t good news. It was the worst, most terrible news imaginable. And when she got off the phone call, the severity of it left Lena collapsed and sobbing seventeen years of anguish out of her lungs, all at once, compounded, knotted, made worse by the fact she wasn’t the only one.

This was systemic and systematic.

She had just been a tiny facet of a much larger picture.

There was now at least three of them who knew this pain, who had somehow lived with this unbearable shame, all of them unaware of the other, all of them certain they had been the only ones it had happened to—Madame Archambault’s _special_ girl—how many others were there before?

How many girls came afterwards?

How many could she have saved if she spoke up sooner?

Lena couldn’t bear the thought, it left her sickened and stuck.

Almost ironic and serendipitously, her office phone rang again in the middle of her breakdown. She couldn’t accept the call, not in this state. Lena allowed it to go to voicemail.

“Hey Lena,” a familiar voice whispered. “Or, sorry, _Miss Luthor_. Headmistress, even. I don’t—” Kara sighed. “Whatever you feel is most appropriate, Ma’am. I just, I guess I’m calling because it’s been a while and I wanted to say hello and talk to you? I tried to call your personal number but... I think you’ve changed it. Anyway, my number is still the same if you want to call me back. There’s something I need to talk to you about—”

“Miss Danvers,” Lena instantly reclaimed her voice as she angrily picked up the phone.

There was a long, silent pause.

“Hi, how… how should I greet you?” Kara sounded as nervous and unsure of herself as she did the first time they stood face-to-face with one another. “What name would you prefer me to use?”

“Considering you lacked the ability to follow through on a prestigious opportunity that I invested my personal time developing you towards, that you lacked the basic _fucking_ decency to call and update me in the two years since I saw you last, I feel any and all greeting is redundant and moot. You and I have no business concerning one another, should you need a reference please fill out the relevant form and forward it to the school secretary. She’ll be sure to pass it on.” Lena slammed the phone down with a vengeance.

An indeterminate amount of time later, minutes or possibly an hour, she couldn’t be sure; Lena dried her tears and wiped her red cheeks. She inhaled a deep breath, unsure of what to do with herself. A long sabbatical from work was necessary now at the very least, she knew that she couldn’t carry on like this.

From the corner of her eyes, a new email in her inbox caught her attention.

**Subject** : _I will_ _ **always**_ _love you the most._

Lena clicked the email.

The body was empty save for the subject line.

***

Of course, Marie Archambault denied all charges from the four separate women the prosecution brought forward in the end.

_Fantasists_ , she and her legal team decried them in the press.

The thing that infuriated Lena the most was the drudged-up memories of feeling worthless, like an unreliable character who could not be trusted as witness to her own abuse.

Marie Archambault had spent some forty years in an executive role at the same school: an institute for unruly, _troubled_ , difficult girls, and therein was half her legal defence. Lena had been warned early on that the defence team had compiled the history of her troubled youth as evidence that she was lying about all of this. A bad apple, or rather _four_ bad apples out of an otherwise unblemished career.

Of course, some of these wayward girls could not be reformed of character.

Lena and the three others were just as unruly, just as troubled, just as difficult now as they had been as teenagers, and all of this was nothing more than a smear campaign against an honest, _god-fearing_ woman. It was total bullshit, it infuriated Lena on levels she did not know she could be emotionally violated anymore, and it compelled her to board that plane in order to stand witness at the trial in person.

She had promised Archambault once that she would put her away for the rest of her life.

It wasn’t a promise Lena was going to break now.

And it wasn’t the fear of seeing Archambault again that had Lena’s knees quaking and her spine soaked with sweat when the first day in court came around. It was the fear of seeing the three other victims. She had come to learn that one of victims had came after herself, and Lena felt as though that was her fault, her burden, her crime. If she had spoken up sooner, if she had realised earlier on the truth of it all…

It didn’t bear thinking about.

Lena couldn’t process it.

Her therapist reassured that it wasn’t her fault. Lena did a good performance of pretending she believed it. Six months since she took leave from her work, Lena felt as though she couldn’t go back to teaching. How could she possibly go back to being a headmistress now? There was no intention, no purpose, no safety in it anymore. Not when she existed in a capacity and environment that reminded her everyday of the past.

It just wasn’t an internal-conflict she could have with herself anymore.

Lena gave her testimony in the packed court, journalists stood in the balcony snapping pictures, and she barely remembered any of it as soon as she got off the stand. There were no tears anymore, no reservations talking about the things that had happened if it meant putting Archambault away.

Lena couldn’t remember the questions she had been asked, how she responded, all she remembered was staring in those steely grey eyes across the room and refusing to be scared or intimidated anymore. Archambault looked like a frail old woman filled with regret now, and Lena felt determined to give her some more on top of all of that too.

“Hello,” a Scottish woman approached her in the hallway outside of the courtroom. “So, you’re Lena Luthor?”

“Please tell me you’re not a reporter—”

“One of the others,” the woman corrected solemnly. “My name is April.”

The woman was younger than Lena. April looked to be twenty-five, or around about that age. A whole nine years younger than Lena. It made an instant knot of dread form in the headmistress’s stomach, this polite and kind-faced woman was the nightmare Lena didn’t realise she had been unable to put a face to. The one that she could have saved, the one that she didn’t.

“April.” Lena closed her eyes, finally putting a name to the nightmare. When she opened them again, they were both holding back tears. “I am so sorry, if I had known that I wasn’t the only one. If I had understood what was happening then I never would have been quiet—”

“I’m sorry.” April pushed forward and hugged her so tight. “You were just a teenager and you didn’t deserve those things. You didn’t know, and I don’t blame you, in fact if it hadn’t been for Kara then I would have never known there were others too. The French police were trying to keep it quiet in the beginning, it was Kara who came to Scotland and found me.”

“Kara?” Lena’s brow knitted.

April seemed surprised by that, but she didn’t answer the question.

“We’re going for lunch and some much needed drinks when the trial ends, me and all of the others,” April said. “I was warned that you’re not the kind for socialising but given the circumstances… would you consider joining us?”

“Sure,” Lena agreed. “It would be nice to meet the other two, I guess.”

“Oh.” April paused, her eyes growing wide as though she didn’t know how to say it.

“More than two others going?” Lena held her breath.

“Well, there were the ones who didn’t want to go to court and deal with the circus. Kara invited the others to the lunch. If the court returns a guilty verdict at the end of this, then it’s a little bit closure for all of us isn’t it?”

***

It sounded silly, but in the end it became something so much bigger and more important than repaying a kindness to Lena Luthor.

She was always at the center of it, the reason before all other logical reasons, but when Kara finally found that first other girl: the one that she had been told about by an ex-pupil in the same school year, Kara realised the systematic extent of all of this. There were more after that, they cropped up faster than she could stay on top of, some who had different experiences than others, but Kara felt every single one of the women’s stories needed to be brought to light.

The French police had tried to bury it in the beginning. Kara could not allow that to happen. And so she went all over, looking, talking to ex-pupils, uncovering the edges of the picture until the picture itself could no longer be denied. Scotland, England, even Germany too, her research took her everywhere.

Until, eventually, it brought her right here, to the closing day of the trial.

_Guilty_.

For the first time since first turning down the job-offer, Kara felt that she could breathe. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Lena, for the others, for the unknown girls who undoubtedly existed somewhere out there; the girls she couldn’t find and never would be able to. But the guilty verdict ran out on all four counts, and it felt like some sense of closure. It wasn’t justice, it was simply _closure_.

Even if Lena didn’t want to speak to her, didn’t want to ever see her again, then Kara felt she could finally go home now and begin her teaching career in good conscience. A last lunch with the girls she had managed to find, then she would head back tomorrow and keep up to date with the sentencing from there.

“So you’re the Kara Danvers that I’ve heard so much about,” a familiar voice spoke up behind her at the bar.

It made Kara’s fingers grow tight around the stem of her wine glass. She willed herself to turn around, to be brave, but that voice did things to her, made her feel things she hadn’t felt in… _years_.

“Hello Miss Luthor,” Kara whispered and turned.

Lena looked immaculate the way she always did. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek pony tail, and she wore a mauve suit and black blouse that was so distinctly her. But, something had changed. The institutionalism. The primness. The purpose. All of it seemed to be lacking now. She just stood there with a smile, her eyes filled with fondness, human in a way that Kara couldn’t recall ever seeing her.

It dawned on Kara all of a sudden that despite the intimacy of their relationship, the persistent love that had refused to dwindle or slow, this was the first time she had ever seen Lena Luthor outside of a school.

“I think it’s just Lena these days,” Lena replied. “Can we talk?”

“We can always talk,” Kara promised and signaled the bartender for another wine. “Guilty on all four counts, that’s a life-sentence no matter which way you look at it. I suppose it doesn’t take away your pain but I hope…” She stopped, unsure of what to say.

“So you came to Europe to right my wrongs in the absence of me altogether?” Lena sounded amused, if not slightly stuck in disbelief. “Does sorry on my part begin to cover what you and I need to clarify to one another?”

“There’s no need for sorry. I came to Europe to right wrongs, regardless of who they belonged to.” Kara felt as though she were blithering. “I just… I couldn’t accept that fancy job-offer and pretend I didn’t know it had happened, because I believed you, and believing you meant that if I didn’t do this… then I was turning my back on you and the other victims. I don’t think that would have been a great start to my teaching career.”

“Why did you never call, Kara?” Lena asked suddenly.

“Because you wanted goodbye to mean goodbye,” she whispered.

“I don’t know about that.”

“You could have called too. I think… I think we’re passed that now, anyway. We’re here, aren’t we?”

Lena paused. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“They say you took sabbatical from Sacred Hearts?” Kara mentioned.

“They say you turned down a prestigious job-offer to solve a campaign of twenty-year sex crimes across Europe—”

“Okay, alright.” Kara couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “I’m just, I’m just trying to piece together the last two years of your life.”

“Me too, I think,” Lena whispered and sipped her drink. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’m going back.”

“You have to.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“You have to,” Kara said sternly. “Promise me. I want you to _promise_ me that you are going to go back. You are… the _most_ inspiring teacher I have ever met. I need you to go back to Sacred Hearts, please?”

“You really think that?” Lena seemed as though she didn’t believe it.

“I think your purpose is so much more than your past, Lena.”

Their eyes met, and as though Lena perfectly knew what the future held for them, she just smiled and nodded her head.

“Alright, I’ll try, but only if you promise me something?”

“Shoot,” Kara said.

“Dinner?” Lena asked nervously. “A real dinner date, this time. A Kara and _Lena_ dinner date, please?”

***

“Another gap-year,” Miss Luthor muttered beneath her breath as she went over the resume in front of her. “It has to be said, you’re very impressive, more than qualified for the role, and yet so many gaps on your work history?” She jokingly lifted her eyes to the prospective new teacher opposite her desk.

“It’s because I’m committed to being the best teacher possible that I had to take some time away from my career.” Kara fiddled with the purse on her lap. “I have letters of recommendation from that period of time, however.” She handed over a small stack of papers.

Her girlfriend just smiled at her as though she were stupid. The first letter of recommendation on top of the stack was from April, who as it turned out was a teacher too. It simply read: 

_Lena, if you don’t give her the job then I will. Hell, if you don’t marry her..._

“I see,” Miss Luthor quirked her expression and nodded at the letter. “You’re sure Sacred Hearts is where you want to be, Miss Danvers?”

“Without a shadow of doubt in my mind.”

Miss Luthor paused and nodded.

“I see,” she whispered again with a smile.

Once outside the job interview, Kara couldn’t help herself. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called her girlfriend, barely resisting the urge to jump up and down right there in the hallway.

“Hello?” Lena answered in surprise at the suddeness.

“Great news babe.”

“Yeah?”

“I got the job.” Kara chuckled and grinned. “The headmistress, she’s very hot, she reminds me of you actually, the same green eyes, same gorgeous cheekbones…” she dropped her tone.

“Is that so?” Lena husked with amusement in her voice.

“Mhm. In fact, I’m still stood outside of her office right now. I know she’s in there still, thinking about me, I don’t know whether to go in there and—”

The office door suddenly swung open behind her.

“Miss Danvers,” Lena used her Headmistress voice, tucking her phone into her suit pocket with an utterly indiscernible expression on her face. “Would you come back inside, please? I think you and I have an urgent matter to hand that’s best discussed in private.”

Kara simpered and felt herself blush.

“Yes Headmistress,” she whispered and followed her girlfriend inside.

[READ MORE OF MY BAD GAL KINK SHIT HERE](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


End file.
